


The Mating Game: Endgame

by Ladytalon



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3803548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladytalon/pseuds/Ladytalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Wild goose chases, whirlwind courtships, bullet wounds... it's just another day at Cheyenne Mountain, where a can of pickles could be the key to saving the world.  Continuation of The Mating Game</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Like A Fish Needs A Bicycle

Someone has definitely been watching _Sex and The City_ , Sam thinks sourly as she finds herself in Baal’s apartment, empty except for a fish tank housing a lone, rather startled-looking piranha. At least it's not a record player.

She’s been through the place at least five times searching for clues, but it looks as if the tank is indeed the only thing left and the piranha isn’t talking. All it’s doing is swimming around the kitschy little castle and… wait a minute. It _is_ kitschy. Baal wouldn’t come within a _mile_ of kitsch.

It’s a transmitter. A transmitter guarded by a piranha on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

“Great.”

Sam rolls up her sleeve as she kneels on the floor beside the tank, wriggling her fingers in anticipation of plunging her hand into a tank with a vicious, flesh-eating creature. She takes a deep breath, lets it out, and dips her hand into the water.

“I’m seriously considering doing something bad to you,” she informs the wall when she re-materializes. 

“I save your planet, and this is the thanks that I receive? How disappointing,” Baal says from behind her.

She turns to find him perusing the pages of _Weekly World News_. "Oh, for Heaven's sake. Did Teal'c give you that?"

"Not now; I'm reading about how Satan was captured by Boy Scouts on the Appalachian Trail." Baal lowers the paper and looks at her over the top of it. "You can put that in the waste basket, unless you'd like to keep it for yourself."

Sam looks down at the small glitter-covered castle still in her palm. "I had to put my hand in the water with a _piranha_ , Baal."

"It had no teeth, Samantha."

He closes the paper and tosses it on the floor negligently, swinging his legs off of the coffee table and down to the floor as he stands. Wearing the Utilikilt that they've teased each other about for weeks. "Nice skirt, boys."

Baal's lips twitch. "I sense a desire to peek beneath it. Now, I believe we were discussing the gratitude you felt towards me for saving your planet."

It seems as if it's always like this – he pulls an absurd come-on out of nowhere, she balks at it, and then they exchange a few verbal blows. Sam's tempted to continue the pattern just for familiarity's sake but, as much as she wants to rip him a new one for his latest trick, she'd much rather show Baal just how glad she is to see him. Besides, she _is_ grateful. For the most part.

Sam walks up to him and kisses him, sliding one arm around his neck. Baal's hair is back to the same length it had been before he'd cut most of it off, and his goatee tickles the corners of her mouth. She draws back, smiling at the faint look of surprise on his face. "Thank you." Twisting out of his arms as he tries to pull her back against him, Sam drifts over to the bank of windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. “Where _are_ we?"

“Indonesia.” He comes over to stand beside her. “Far from the most sophisticated place this world has to offer, but it is adequate.”

“Adequate? Are you kidding me? It’s gorgeous.” Outside, the surf pounds against the rocks surrounding the island that the house is built upon. “I love that sound,” she sighs. "I haven't been swimming in ages."

Of course he has a bikini for her to wear, and of course it looks like it's made out of pink postage stamps and dental floss… it's just as well she's already gone for a wax because if she hadn't, the whole world would know about it in this ridiculous bikini. Sam filches one of his shirts from the walk-in closet that's bigger than her entire kitchen and swings it around her shoulders before going out in the living room.

Baal looks up from the drinks he's mixing as she comes over to sit on the other side of the built-in bar, and Sam slaps his hand away when he reaches across to tug her shirt open. "Where did you get it?"

"I had someone buy it."

"Way to make a girl feel special."

"I _did_ specify that it had to be pink," Baal points out. "Are you planning on wearing my shirt outside?”

Sam ignores him, opening one of the liquor bottles and sniffing at it curiously. “Would it really kill you to give full disclosure for once in your lives? The IOA would love to have me thrown in a cell somewhere just because I am ‘in collusion’ with you, and here you are shanghaiing me to Bali when I’m supposed to bring you in for questioning.”

“If I go anywhere to be questioned, your government would attempt to make it difficult for me to leave. I have no wish to be anyone’s science project…would you like a small umbrella? I’m told that all alcoholic beverages served on an island require them.” 

“Why do you think I offered you a chance to escape back at Area 51?”

“Why do _you_ think I declined and made my departure unaided?”

They gaze at each other over the row of liquor bottles until Sam drums her fingers on the bar. “What are you going to do now that there’s the warrant-to-end-all-warrants out for your arrest?”

“I thought I might take a long look at how well that bikini fits you.”

“Could you be serious, please?”

“I _am_ serious.” Baal hands her a drink with a little umbrella in it. “This is one of my homes, and I thought that you might like to spend an hour or two here…in a bikini.”

“But-”

He lifts a finger. “No more questions. We have time to discuss this later.” Baal walks around behind her and places his hands on her hips, leaning in to nuzzle at her neck. "Spend the day with us."

"I have reports to file…"

"...which can be done _later_."

Well, she supposes that an hour or two on a private Indonesian island can't hurt.

Thirty minutes later Sam is congratulating herself on her decision as she lays stretched out on a padded chaise lounge, soaking up the warmth of the sun. It's a welcome relief from the numbing cold of Colorado. She cracks an eye open to look over at Baal, who is sitting cross-legged a few feet away – if he were Jaffa, she'd say that he was deep within kel'nor'reem. Not that she'd ever dream of comparing him to a Jaffa out loud, especially not in that kilt. His bare chest is well bronzed with sun and she runs her eyes over him a bit hungrily. "What are you doing?" she finally asks.

One long-lashed eyelid opens as he looks at her, then Baal lowers it in a wink. "Watching you look at me as if I'm something good to eat." Both eyes open and a particularly naughty smile slides across his face. "Would you like another taste?"

"Oh, _please_ ," she starts to say, trying not to look at how his Utili-kilt is lifting in the front, but then Baal leans back and uncrosses his legs as he changes position. By the time those two words are past her lips, they sound more like pleading rather than sarcasm.

Baal drops onto all fours and _crawls_ towards her, a sleek panther on the prowl and looking like a gender-swapped rendition of a classic teenage fantasy. Sam breathes in sharply as he mounts the oversized lounge chair, climbing up her body until he's directly above her. Baal stares down into her eyes as he moves his knees between hers, nudging her legs apart and dropping down oh-so-slowly until he's right _there_ , fully aroused and snug against the ridiculous pink bikini that suddenly doesn't feel so ridiculous after all.

He breathes her name in the symbiote's multi-tonal voice and as close as he is, Sam can feel it vibrating through him. He says it again, " _Samantha_ ," and she knows he's doing it so that she's fully aware that both of them are atop her, giving her every chance to tell him – them – no. 

Sam wasn't able to get past the 'threesome' dynamic she would have had with Martouf and Lantash but this feels…she _knows_ them, and has already made love with the host. With that in mind and her nerve endings screaming for more contact, Sam reaches down and lifts the kilt. The movement makes his cock fall against her crotch with a meaty slap that curves her spine as she lifts up against him, and Baal gives a humming growl. His gold-rimmed brown eyes flare with light as he pushes his hips into her, the bit of fabric covering her providing exquisite friction as his thick shaft strokes and nudges and rubs.

" _Baal_ ," she moans back at him, unable to do anything more than rub her body into the chair's cushion, her fingers curling and grasping at air as her System Lord…there has to be another, more elegant way to say 'dry hump' but at the moment her brain's a little short of synonyms. Baal takes his weight on his left arm and uses the spare to guide her hand to his back. "If you stop, I swear to God I'll kill you."

He laughs and performs another delicious shimmy of his hips, refraining for once to comment upon her use of his favorite word. "If I were to have a middle name, I'm sure 'danger' would be it."

"Funny," she pants, digging the pads of her fingers in the flexing muscles of his lower back. Sam's other hand slips down to hold the kilt up against his belly, and she raises her head to watch what he's doing. Baal lifts himself slightly to allow her a better view, then drops down and slants his mouth over hers; she releases the kilt and winds the other arm around his neck. When something _moves_ beneath her wrist, she nearly jerks her hand back in shock.

Baal puts his back into a series of thrusts that push her closer and closer to the orgasm that's beginning to set her skin tingling, and Sam returns her hand to his neck. Her fingers consciously seek out the symbiote, stroking it (him) through sun-warmed skin. Baal's kiss deepens in response, his hips moving more urgently while he rolls his shoulder up into her palm. Yes, he _definitely_ likes that.

He moves his mouth to her breast, slipping the triangle top aside with his tongue and licking at her nipple as he strains to keep his groin against hers. Sam's almost there, almost, one good rub is all she needs and-

"Oh _God_ , I'm…don't stop don't, yesyesyes _yes_ ," she babbles, convulsing in his arms. Sam rides against the hot ridge of him, her voice leveling out in a soft croon as Baal holds her hard and continues the frottage to prolong the feeling that shivers through her limbs. 

When he lays her back on the cushion and lifts her legs over his thighs, she arches up in permission but he doesn't move to penetrate her…what he does instead is almost better. Baal unties her bikini bottom so that she's bare and open to him, and then he unbuckles the leather kilt and drops it beside the chair. Sam sucks her bottom lip between her teeth as he wraps a hand around his shaft and masturbates for her with no shame whatsoever – it's easily the hottest thing she's ever seen. His eyes burn with white light as he comes, hot and thick on her labia, and a flanged moan hums through his throat when Sam reaches down to spread it into her skin.

"Well, now."

"Shut up and come here," she says, reaching out. Sam scoots over onto her side as he joins her, sliding his body along hers and taking her into his arms. She smiles as Baal makes short work of pulling her top off so that nothing lies between their bodies and nestles her head against his chest. "You've been better," she informs him after a few minutes.

The hand trailing over her back stops at this drowsy pronouncement. "I beg your pardon."

"Oh, it was fine," Sam protests, "But I think that with a little more practice-" her words end in a shriek as he lunges up from the lounge chair, carrying her with him to the edge of the sun deck's tiled platform. He extends her over the water easily as she struggles, wishing she'd never decided to tease him. "No, put me down!" Baal pulls her back towards him with a smile and Sam sighs in relief as her feet touch the ground; she opens her mouth to scold him when he drops a hip and launches her into the air. "What a- _aaaaaaahhh……..!_ "

She hits the water and claws her way back up to the surface, where she tosses her head to get the hair out of her eyes and screams at Baal. He doesn't seem concerned at the threats – he simply lifts his hands in the air and makes a show of dusting them off before he turns and leaves her in the water.


	2. Not Just A Love Tap

The reports are filed on time despite her side trip to Indonesia, and Baal is still _very_ much in disgrace. 

As soon as she'd floundered her way to the foot of the cliff he'd hurled her from, so furious she could barely see straight, a hand had closed about her forearm and helped her from the water. Sam had barely gained her footing when she'd noticed that the hand hadn't been attached to Baal, and she'd nearly fallen right back into the water. There she was, half-drowned and fully nude, and instead of coming down himself Baal had sent one of his retainers.

She happened to know the one he'd sent down. 

Thankfully he hadn't said much beyond asking her if she'd like a towel and what had she thought of the bikini he'd bought for her? They hadn't seen each other for a little more than seven years, but the man still possessed the ability to infuriate her without having to say much of anything at all. Sam _did_ have to give him credit for never letting his eyes leave her face.

Just the memory of the amusement on his face makes her face redden, and Sam self-consciously tugs at her BDU shirt to make sure it's buttoned all the way up. She's sitting in yet another briefing concerning Other Baal's failed attempt to seize control of Earth, and it would be easier if her clone would put in an appearance even though it would mean immediate incarceration. That, and another slap to the face.

"We've been unable to pinpoint his location so far, but there have been a few inquiries about his former holdings. It could be coincidence, but Hammel Technologies reported three separate mainframe hacks within the last month," General Landry says, lifting a file folder and dropping it back on the table. 

"When has Baal ever been that sloppy?" Daniel says, leaning forward in his chair. "I don't buy it."

Landry raises his shaggy eyebrows. "Neither did I."

One of the IOA representatives – thankfully Woolsey isn't there today – clears her throat. "All evidence points directly towards someone who would have the level of access that the current CEO possesses. The intrusions were made at the exact time the system synchronizes with and performs a data dump onto servers that are more heavily encrypted than the U.S. Government's."

"And how would you possibly know that unless you attempted to decode them?" All but Sam swivel around in their chairs to look at the other end of the conference table, where a hologram of Baal stands with folded arms. He looks around the table, stopping to smile at General O'Neill. "I hope I'm not interrupting." 

Landry folds his hands on the table. "Not at all. We've been waiting for you."

Baal smiles again, looking over at the armed guards lining the door. "I see that."

"Feel free to stop in anytime you feel like it, and we'll have a room made up for you," Jack offers, his own smile tight.

A metal-tipped finger rises to wag from side to side. "Now, now… is it truly _General_ O'Neill? Imagine that. My dear… _General_ …O'Neill, it would be very hard for me to protect my planet from within a prison cell."

" _Your_ planet."

"Like it or not, and I'm well aware that you do not, I am Earth's protector."

"You protect it from _yourself_.”

Baal cocks his head to the side. “Some have easier tasks than others.” His gaze slides towards Sam, and she glares back. “Now. In my role as protector of this planet, I am here to help you help yourselves. Since you have received the reports from Hammel Technologies, I can tell you that the intrusions were meant to be noticed; the real attack was focused on the shareholders who have the most significant amount of stock.”

Sam taps her pen on the table. “And you know this because…?”

“Because it is what I would do, and it turns out that it is what…I… _did_ do. A self-replicating virus was introduced to another set of servers, which house our trading information. It has been sent to each shareholder’s computer where it seeks out any financial subject matter and repeats the process of infection.”

Cam leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “What, you mean it piggybacks on whatever stock information it finds?”

“And I was told you were the dense one.” Baal folds his hands behind his back and smiles. “When enough accounts have been compromised, the virus will lie dormant until a remote command will activate a subroutine. All selected holdings will be transferred to their new owner, who will then control the North American stock market. Ingenious, really.” 

_Oh, Lord_. Sam rubs at her temples to soothe a sudden, fierce headache as half the people in the briefing leap to their feet and begin shouting. Jack leaves the table to confront the bearer of such bad news, and the IOA rep just looks stunned as she works out the ramifications of a premeditated stock market crash. 

She supposes that she should feel proud of the fact that they actually believe what he’s warning them of, but she can’t muster enough energy to care. “Where did the IP addresses of the hacking attempts lead you?” 

Baal looks vaguely uncomfortable. “Nowhere of consequence,” he says, which tells her that Other Baal walked into Hammel Technologies and fooled the employees into thinking that he was their CEO. At least now she knows why he's inflicted Aris Boch upon the planet, and she watches silently as Baal gets them to rescind the standing warrant for his arrest. Certain people won't be pleased at all that a Goa'uld-Ancient hybrid is allowed to roam the SGC, and Sam fully expects them to make another bid to detain him for study.

She slips from the room after the briefing wraps up and Baal is still speaking with General Landry. "Hey, Carter!" Jack calls after her and Sam dutifully slows down, wondering how much he knows. "What isn't he telling us?"

"Sir?"

"Don't play innocent. If you know something…"

Sam looks at him, thinking that things could have turned out in a completely different way if they'd had the courage to pursue a relationship. The feelings she had for him have changed into fond friendship, not that she'd ever tell him. "His Jaffa aren't tattooed, and I'm pretty sure they're on salary. He keeps piranhas as pets, he can't cook to save his life, and he has Aris Boch on his payroll."

The bounty hunter's name brings a scowl to Jack's face, just as she'd known it would. "Are you sure?"

"I've seen him myself, Sir."

Jack frowns again. "If Boch's here, then that means the other Baal is here on Earth also. Other Baal – things were a lot easier when we just gave them all numbers." He cocks his head as he thinks about Earth’s latest uninvited guest, then glances back towards the briefing room with a scowl. “See what you can find out about a possible location, recent sightings; whatever.”

She nods. “You got it, General.”

He studies her for a second, probably trying to work up the nerve to question her alleged relationship with a Goa’uld System Lord, then just nods before he turns on his heel and heads back down the corridor. Sam watches him go, wondering if she should follow just in case Baal stirs things up to the point where it would be safer in the middle of a New Year’s fireworks exhibition.

Sam changes her clothes and heads to the weight room, intending to burn off her excess irritation by getting a pair of boxing gloves and imagining Baal’s face on the punching bag. Teal’c is already there using the free-weights, and he gives her a solemn nod as she walks in the door. Simon Wells from SG-13 is there being yelled at by David Dixon, who gives her a cheerful wave as he continues his harangue. “Come on, my Nana could do better than that – now, _lift!_ ”

Warming up by shadowboxing in front of the mirror, she’s able to see it when Baal’s hologram appears just behind her. “You, fighting?” he asks. “How utterly… adorable.”

“He just said ‘adorable.’ Did you hear that, Teal’c?”

Teal’c pauses mid-arm curl and cocks an eyebrow. “Indeed I did.”

Baal sniffs and folds his arms. “I must speak with you in private.”

“Too bad,” Sam says, working on her jab-uppercut combo and refusing to look him in the face. Although… “Hey, could you move a little to the left?” He does so, and she turns to throw her punches through him and into the hanging bag. _Much_ better than simply imagining him there.

“Very mature,” Baal observes. “Perhaps you require a true lesson in combat.”

Sam hits the bag hard, driving her fist through the light-image of his throat. “Maybe I do – happen to know any decent teachers?” She throws her weight into a right cross and Baal suddenly catches her fist in his, making her stumble. “What the...?”

Dixon straightens in alarm and takes a step towards them, and Teal’c rises from the weight bench slowly. “Don’t bother calling for anyone with a gun; I’ve made it quite clear that my cooperation will end at the merest hint of arrest.” Baal releases Sam’s fist and smiles cheerfully as he slides his coat off of his shoulders. “I’ve modified the Asgard transportation beam to fit my purposes, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, now that you _mention_ it…” Sam bounces from foot to foot, bringing her fists up in guard position.

Baal eyes her, folding the ornate silver and black frock coat over the closest weight bench. “You’re not still upset about Bali, are you?” he asks in a tone that implies that she should have gotten over it by now. She aims a kick at him and he sidesteps it lazily, bringing his knee up to catch her shin. Sam's knocked off-balance and Baal reaches to place his palm on her collarbone, shoving her to the mat. "Is that the best you can do?"

Sam glares at him and stretches out her hand…when starts to pull her to her feet she tugs as hard as she can and slams her forehead against his, making his head rock back. "I'm just getting warmed up," she promises.

"I see that." Baal lunges towards her and Sam throws a left cross, expecting a feint that happens a little faster than she'd planned. Her fist glances off his bicep as he moves around her smoothly, seizing her by the seat of her pants and dumping her on the floor for the second time in as many minutes. He steps back to let her stand, and she walks up to him before giving him a smile and a kick in the shins.

"Remember that time I broke your nose?" Sam asks conversationally. "Teal'c, remember that?"

Baal blocks her next punch. "That wasn't me." 

She aims high, sending a flurry of blows at him to get him to lift both arms then drops to the mat, using her downward momentum to give him a charley horse he'll never forget. They manage to get in a few good blows each before the whole thing devolves into a cage match (minus the cage) that they're both determined to win. Sam bloodies his nose, Baal pulls her hair, equipment is overturned, and the punching bag is ripped from the ceiling and used as a battering ram. 

Teal'c finally puts an end to things when Sam picks up a 40-pound weight, intent upon bludgeoning Baal with it. "It is not wise to murder one who can control the Chair of the Ancients," the Jaffa says calmly, confiscating the weight and glancing over at Baal. "It is equally unwise to provoke Samantha Carter into smothering you in your sleep."

They both watch him leave the room – with the weight still in his hands just in case Sam decides to go for it after all – and she looks over at Baal, who's wiping the blood from his nose and patting his hair back into place. "I guess we did get a little carried away."

"Speak for yourself - _we_ were having fun."

Their audience slowly diminishes as it becomes clear that they won't be trying to kill each other for the time being, and Sam walks over to inspect her bruises in the full-length mirror. "Let me guess; that was foreplay for you?"

Baal walks over to her, straightening his clothing, and their eyes meet. "One form of it. I believe you're familiar with at least two more."

It's her turn to sniff. "I'm still angry with you."

"It wasn't my idea to throw you off of the island," the host confesses. 

"Really."

"Truly. _I_ thought a sound spanking might teach you the error of your ways." He leans close, watching for the smile that's threatening to emerge, and at long last she's able to give in to her longing to slap his face.


	3. Fish Out Of Water

Their last encounter is fresh in her mind as Sam walks in her lab to find Baal sitting in front of her computer. "Out of my chair," she orders, flinging her arm out to point at the far side of the room.

"And a very good morning to _you_." Baal glances over at her and returns his attention to the monitor as he taps the keyboard a few times. "You're late, by the way."

"No, I'm not. What are you doing here?"

He hits Enter and swivels the chair to face her. "Searching your hard drive for pornography – I've finished watching all of mine."

"Find anything good?" Sam smacks his hand away as he reaches for her coffee mug.

Baal scoots the chair closer and hauls her into his lap, wrapping his hands around hers and guiding the mug to his mouth so he can take a sip. "Sadly, no. I did, however, discover that several SGC programs show signs of having been tampered with."

Sam struggles to her feet, heading to her computer. "Dialing computer?"

"Dialing computer, ventilation systems, and communication arrays. He's not playing very nicely," Baal says thoughtfully. "Our mutual acquaintance seems to believe he's taken one of your peers as host to gain access to the base."

"That makes sense," Sam agrees. "Did you get a timestamp for any of the alterations – and more importantly, did you reverse whatever damage he's done to our systems?"

He shrugs. "I called tech support."

"This is serious," she sighs. "Tell me you're joking."

Baal stares at her. "I hope you are not suggesting that the red telephone in Landry's office _wasn't_ connected to the IT desk."

"Dammit, Baal…!" Sam pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes, praying for patience. "I'll need a list of everyone Aris has screened for possible Blending."

He shakes his head at her as he stands up. "Comm silence will be maintained until he's located the most likely candidate – it would be unwise to mount an active search just yet. If Boch has indeed found my…source material, he will find us and inform me of the discovery."

She hates being dependant upon someone whose only loyalty is to himself, which reminds her… "How did you convince him to work for you? Roshna?"

"The chemical dependency was a relatively easy matter to fix," Baal says dismissively.

"So that's not the real reason?"

"It had something to do with a handful of Nirrti's Jaffa and their part in making him so dreadfully handsome," Baal replies. "I've been waiting to gain access to the Star Gate - now that you've finally arrived, I suggest we make our way to it."

Putting aside her questions about Nirrti, Sam motions for Baal to follow her. "I'm shocked that they didn't just let you in there by yourself."

The symbiote rumbles at her as they head down the corridor leading to the junction that splits off into the stairs to the Control Room. Sergeant Siler appears at the head of a group of SFs, lecturing them on the dangers of stripping the cable on the power conduits. "Just last week, Airman Tanner was electrocuted during the attempted repairs; make sure you're grounded at all times. Safety first – Colonel," he greets, nodding. One of the airmen touches the bill of his cap as the group passes, and Sam blinks in surprise at seeing Aris Boch dressed in Air Force blue.

Sam provides the assurance the guards need to allow Baal into the Gate Room, and they conduct an extensive manual examination of the Gate while half of Siler's group inspects the power conduits. "I'll need to run a diagnostic to be sure nothing internally corrosive has been introduced," Baal says, then frowns slightly. 

Sam follows his eyes to where Aris is crouched beside the service ramp, ostensibly checking the thick cables crossing beneath it. The Hunter's eyes give a telling flick towards the Control Room window, and Sam feels like shoving Baal away from the center of the Star Gate despite the fact that they'd have ample warning of its activation. "Sergeant, do you mind if I use a few of your helpers to bring us the equipment we'll need?"

Siler looks around and gestures broadly in acquiescence, so Sam issues her request to Aris. He tugs the hat brim down over his eyes and nods, heading for the door. Trying to be casual about it Sam turns to look up at the large window and raises a hand in greeting to Walter, who smiles back and lifts his coffee cup in salute. She sees a few other technicians moving about and turns so that she can watch from the corner of her eye. "What happens when he moves in?"

"His temporary host shouldn't be damaged _too_ much, unless Boch becomes overexcited," Baal says conversationally, casting a jaundiced eye over the repairs being done on the power conduits. "Sergeant Siler is about to electrocute himself again."

Siler lets out a high-pitched yelp, and Sam uses the subsequent confusion to get another look at the Control Room window where she's just in time to see Aris curl his arm around Walter's neck in a sleeper hold. " _Walter?_ "

Baal raises his hand and points his first two fingers towards the glass as Sergeant Harriman thrashes in the bounty hunter's grip. The za'tarc ring Sam hadn't even known Baal was wearing shatters the window, and Walter's heightened reflexes make it easy for him to bury a piece of glass in one of his captor's arteries. Aris snarls in pain and attempts to keep hold of Baal's latest host as another beam of energy pierces Walter's shoulder, but Aris is forced to release him after another glass shard slashes the inside of his arm.

The other Baal briefly looks down at them through Walter Harriman's eyes, which glow as an indicator of his possession. The lights of Asgard beaming technology surround him, then Walter is left standing there looking dumbfounded and pressing a hand to his wounded shoulder. "…Colonel?" 

"Stand down," Sam orders the SFs swarming the Gate Room and targeting the perplexed Master Sergeant. "He's gone. You and you – get a medical team up there. _You_ take Sergeant Siler, and the rest come with me. We've got a Goa'uld to catch."

She discovers that her Baal is already gone, when she turns to ask him where _he'd_ go after leaving Walter's body. If all else failed they can probably distinguish him from his twin just by asking to smell his breath – Sam doesn't really think the other Baal drinks coffee. What on earth had he been doing up in the Control Room, counteracting whatever fixes had been made in the system?

She gets there just as Carolyn is performing triage on Aris, who certainly looks like he's had better days. Despite that, the big man is trying to stand up so he can go after his quarry. "Stay still," Carolyn snaps as she struggles to hold him down and prepare a tranquilizer. "You've lost a lot of blood, and I have no idea how to treat your species. Colonel, a little help?"

"Carter, you have to-"

" _Stay down_ , Aris. If he's still on the base, we'll find him and-"

The Hunter curls his fingers around her wrist, squeezing hard and smearing her clothing with yellow blood. "Find your pet, and get him out – the shields are down."

"Aris-"

" _Listen_ to me. He'll bring in suh…sih…" Carolyn shoves the prepared syringe in his neck and depresses the plunger; Aris' grip loosens, and his eyes slowly close as he loses consciousness.

Sam extracts her hand from his fingers, thinking hard. What would Other Baal bring through the shields that started with… "Symbiote poison." She's out the door at a run, waving aside Landry's demands for an explanation, and nearly collides with Daniel. "Where's Baal?" she demands, and when her friend begins to gesture in the general direction of the armory she tears off down the hall. "Get the shields back up," Sam yells.

She's almost there when a hand clamps over her mouth and yanks her into the darkened cafeteria. "Stop yelling," Baal hisses in her ear, and she relaxes as she smells the faint aroma of coffee. "Why don't we just use the intercom to announce our location?"

"I was worried about you," Sam whispers back. "Not that you deserve it. Your employee won't be joining us."

"Dead?"

"Drugged insensible." Mention of Aris puts her in mind of his warning. "The other you dropped the shields, and is probably going to transport in a few canisters of symbiote poison. I think we should get you out of here."

"The ventilation system won't be of any help, Samantha," Baal chides her. "He would either waste his time transporting canisters into various parts of the base, or he would have to be close enough to me that he would also ingest the poison."

There has to be more to it than that. "What about Jaffa as a mobile delivery system? If _you_ have a few, who's to say that _he_ doesn't?"

Baal gives Sam his disgusted 'I hate it when you might be right' look. "That's ridiculous."

"Why, because you didn't think of it yourself?"

"That's _also_ ridiculous."

"The all-powerful System Lord of Earth hiding in the cafeteria is what's ridiculous."

"There is a difference between hiding and laying in wait," Baal says. "Learn it." 

Sam slides a spoon from the utensil cart and shines it against her lapel before angling it out into the hallway. Ignoring Baal's snort, she frowns into the reflective surface. "I see something." She smacks him with her other hand when she hears him draw breath to speak. "And _no_ , it's not a food stain."

'Something' turns out to be Cameron, who reports that Baal's taken advantage of the lowered shields to transport several naquidah bombs in various locations. "Shields just went back up, but we're still finding explosives everywhere," the other Colonel says. "What's with the spoon?"

They head back to the Control Room with Baal disappointed that he didn't get to entrap _or_ shoot anyone, and Sam catches Landry up to speed. Aris is there, perched on a console looking sore in every sense of the word – Baal goes to speak with him, and she hears several hair-raising Goa'uld oaths along with word 'glass' repeated frequently. Later, Carolyn will tell her all about the alien bounty hunter waking up in the middle of getting stitches and knocking down two nurses as he climbed off of the table and walked out with the IV still attached.

One of the other gate technicians suddenly lurches to her feet as a holographic image of Other Baal appears directly in front of them. "Have you found all of the explosive devices yet?" he asks. "There were seventeen of them."

Cam freezes, obviously remembering what he'd told Sam earlier about finding eleven so far. Landry raises his bushy eyebrows and steps forward to rest his palms on each side of the iris control panel. "Is there something we can do for you?" he asks calmly.

Baal laughs. "As a matter of fact, there _is_."

"Let's hear it," Landry orders.

"If you do not cede control of your planet, I will introduce several of Nirrti's pathogens to your atmosphere." Baal smiles at them, tucking his hands in the sleeves of his robe. "I have no idea what each one does, and I'm afraid I must admit to being…deathly curious."

Sam glances over at her clone, who has borrowed Aris' naquidah-tracking device and is looking down at it. He glances up and shakes his head. "There are no other bombs."

Their unwelcome visitor gazes at him. "Would you wager your life upon that belief, brother?" The gate technician turns and Sam can only stare in shock as the woman pulls a gun to train it on Baal. "I'm sure you've heard about the symbiotes used as Kull Warriors." 

"I say we just take her down regardless," Cam mutters.

"Oh, yes. Those bombs…you're about to find the rest." The hologram blinks out, and Sam's inching her fingers towards her gun when the first explosions from the Gate Room almost knock her from her feet. She counts five successive blasts and dimly wonders where the sixth and final one will be as she tries to get close enough to the 'blank' symbiote.

The conference room explodes, sending a fiery kickback that incinerates the Gate map and sears the walls of the Control Room… and instead of the pipes routing water to the sprinklers, symbiote gas comes out. Sam's still struggling to regain her feet as she sees it, watches Baal's eyes widen as his hand lifts to his neck. The Goa'uld symbiote overriding the gate tech's consciousness stiffens in reaction, and her finger slips on the trigger just as Aris puts a bullet between her eyes.

Landry's down, and so are a few others, but all Sam can think of is Baal. Aris has a finger on his pulse as she reaches them, and her panic is aborted by the sudden realization that he's still alive. "How…?"

"He's not Blended," Aris says, carefully sliding his uninjured arm beneath his current employer's neck. "And still alive for now."

"Then it's our job to keep him that way." Sam strips off her jacket and starts peeling Baal's suit back, biting back a gasp at the sight of the stomach wound. She begins triage, trying to stop the bleeding in any way she can while he swims in and out of consciousness, delirious with the pain. After what seems like hours, Carolyn Lam appears yet again, her face drawn with worry over her father and her other new patients as she takes over.

Aris stays long enough to help the SGC's medical staff transfer all patients to the infirmary, then simply disappears to continue his hunt for Baal's twin. The Gate is damaged, and the controls fried so they can't get offworld – the fires are finally out, and the place is swarming with extra personnel from Area 51 and the nearby base. The last bombs were encased in a peculiar alloy meant to shield them from instruments that can detect naquidah, and they'd been wired into the base's power supply.

Both Baal and General Landry are airlifted to Fort Carson and the hospital there; Sam's main priority is repairing the Gate, despite how badly she wants to be at Evans. Vala comes to crouch beside her, extending a protein bar. "You should eat. It's chocolate chip."

She's about to refuse, but looks over at her friend and sees that Vala needs to talk. Sam strips off her gloves and accepts the offering. "How's Daniel?"

"Worried, but fine." Vala gives her a quick smile, brushing her hair back from her face. "He'll have a few bruises. Sam?"

"Hm?"

"What's going to happen to the stock market? I just invested in a new company called Pocket Pets, Inc. and-"

Sam chokes on her protein bar as she starts laughing – Vala being Vala is just what she needs to take her mind off their current situation. Her friend gives her a deft swat between the shoulder blades, and she manages to keep any more of her snack from going down the wrong pipe. "You're unbelievable," she laughs.

"Haven't you heard of them?" Vala asks excitedly. "You register them on the Internet, and you have to carry them everywhere you go so you get points! I could get you one."

Sam shakes her head and goes back to repairing the damaged lengths of cable. "If I wanted to carry something around, I'd get a Goa'uld _symbiote_ and you know that's not the sort of thing I…need…"

Vala waves a hand in front of Sam's face. "Sam?"

"Vala, you're a genius." A Goa'uld symbiote wasn't the sort of thing _she_ needed, but she knew who _did_ need one. The real question was, how was she going to transport it? "Can we talk about this later? I have something I need to do..."


	4. Your Head or Mine?

It takes her longer than she'd expected to track down Baal's Jaffa but once they're apprised of the situation, they're more than helpful. Having Vala with her is _also_ helpful, because due to the hijinks she gets up to at every opportunity, Sam's nearly forgotten how ruthless and fierce Vala can be. It's good to have a friend by her side at a time like this.

She can't very well explain to her superior officers what she's going to do, because she doesn't have any time to waste – besides, they wouldn't let the opportunity to study both host and symbiote slip past them. Some _very_ fast talking had gotten the men of SG-1 over to Fort Carson to watch over the injured host while they went to retrieve the symbiote. There’s more than a slim chance that the Other Baal would attempt an assassination in the hospital if the operation goes as well as Sam is praying it will. She refuses to accept the fact that the host might not live through it.

They materialize inside the same house that she’d visited a handful of days ago, and Sam glances out of the windows where the chaise lounge had been. “What am I looking for, besides a new outfit or three?” Vala asks, reaching over to stroke the arm of the leather couch. “I quite like this.”

“A tank, a fish tank…if you find one, don’t put your hand in it,” Sam advises, gesturing towards one half of the house. “I’ll look through these rooms if you’ll get the other side.”

Vala nods and heads off to search, while Sam does a quick circuit of the main living area – there’s nothing but papers, a few tabloids and three books of crossword puzzles, all finished. The next two rooms are empty, but the third door opens into a massive bedroom that could only be his. One entire wall has a built-in aquarium and Sam rushes to it, pressing her fingertips to the glass and searching for the symbiote. 

“Sam?” Vala leans in the door. "I think I found it…is that a skirt?"

Sam follows her out. "It's a kilt." They step into one of the back bedrooms and her blood goes cold at the sight of glass, water, and dead fish littering the carpet. "Oh, no." The aquarium - a twin to the abandoned tank at Baal's old apartment – has been shattered with several bullets, judging from the holes in the wall. Vala checks under the bed while Sam scans the carpet, but there's no sign of the symbiote.

Vala straightens, hands on hips. "He isn't here. Now what?"

"Now we call Baal's insurance policy." Aris has to have found Baal Two's trail by now, and he should be able to predict where he can find the Goa'uld after his side-trip to help her out.

"Insurance policy?" Vala asks, poking her head into the closet and rummaging through the clothing. "This looks like the half-price rack at Pleasure Palace."

Sam digs her phone out of her back pocket and scrolls through the saved messages, looking for the 'recall' code that Baal had told her Aris would respond to. "He has a Hunter on his payroll – you wouldn't know him." 

Keying in the code in a blank text message, she presses 'send' and opens the list of her contacts. Maybe Cam can tell her how the surgery is going, if they've placed Baal in one of their amphitheaters… she freezes in place at a faint sound and gestures to Vala, who sinks into a crouch while Sam eases her sidearm out of its holster. 

She strokes the hammer with her thumb, watching the door and waiting for their mystery guest to show, and despite her readiness she still jumps as Aris comes sliding around the corner with a gun in each hand. A moment later, Vala is barreling past with a delighted shriek and Aris' attempt to juggle her and the guns end with the pair of them in a heap on the floor. "Whoa-!"

"Aris, darling!" Vala peppers his face with kisses, and he doesn't seem to mind a bit. 

Sam coughs and looks up at the ceiling as they continue greeting each other with their lips. "So I take it you two know each other," she says after it sounds as though they've finally come up for air.

"You could say that," Aris says amiably, tapping the end of Vala's nose before lifting her off of his lap and standing up. "Now, was there something in particular that you wanted or did you just feel like interrupting me?" His eyes travel over the bullet holes in the wall and the glass on the floor. "I take it you didn't do that."

"Not for lack of wanting to. Does Number Two have him?"

Aris purses his lips thoughtfully. "I haven't seen any indication of it, but he could still be in transit."

"Is there any way we can track the symbiote using your naquidah scanner?"

"It's…possible, but I think there's another option," Aris says, familiar cocky grin spreading across his features. "You know how to track RFID chips, don't you?"

"RFID? But that's…" Sam trails off. "Aris, you _didn't_."

"What? Someone had to."

"You micro chipped a _Goa'uld symbiote?_ "

Vala starts to laugh. "Aren't those used for family pets?"

"I also taught it to retrieve the newspaper." Aris goes to the closet and slams his fist against the back of it, revealing a hollow compartment behind the plaster. Pulling out one of the four laptops stacked inside, he tosses it to Sam and reaches back in for an armful of garment bags. "The code's saved in a zip file. He had two of these made for you so little Vala here can probably fit in whichever one you _don't_ wear." He pauses to look over his shoulder at her, a gleam in his eye. "Sorry it's not pink."

Sam shakes her head at him and turns her attention to the computer. Tuning out the sounds of Vala and Aris flirting with each other as they open the garment bags, she plugs in the chip's code and narrows her eyes at the screen. "This is a pretty advanced program; you must have tweaked the source code something fierce-oh, my God," she splutters.

Aris pauses in the act of dressing. "What?"

"Just…put some clothes on," Sam says, holding a hand up to block out the sight. Vala, of course, isn't even blinking so she doesn't miss a second.

"Earthlings," he snorts, hauling up his pants. "Are they all like this?"

"It's rather fun seeing how appalled they get at the slightest provocation."

"You could do better than Jackson."

"I hope you're not suggesting that _you_ -"

"Don't make me laugh. It's not pinching, is it?"

Sam glances back up this time to see Vala with more revealed than not, wriggling into… "Kull armor." Aris is wearing a suit of it, too. "I don't suppose you changed the helmet design."

Aris holds up matching headgear that looks more like a motorcycle helmet and hands it to her, all business. "I'll transfer his signal code to this" he taps a device strapped to his bicep "while you suit up." 

He turns his back to save her embarrassment, and she undresses hurriedly while Vala brings over the remaining armor. It's a little tight around the midsection – she probably shouldn't have eaten the rest of those chimichangas last night – but it'll do. Aris dumps another bag across the mattress, spilling out a variety of highly illegal firearms and incendiary devices. Sam picks out several items while Vala loads a pack with explosives and Aris loops something around his waist that looks a lot like a harpoon gun.

"Each suit has a built-in transport system; tap this panel on your chest plate, and you'll be sent back here," Aris instructs as he motions them towards a concealed side-door. "There are four of these but we only need two – Carter, you ride with me." 

In what could only be described as a garage, there sits four covered motorcycles. Sam lifts the dustcover on the nearest one, and sighs at Baal's naquidah-powered Night Rod. "You can take Vala." 

Their mutual friend is busily uncovering the rest of the bikes, which range from off-road to racing, and Aris sighs. "Carter, I'm not giving you orders just because I feel like it. I get you to the symbiote, you can do whatever you want – but I need you to trust me and do as I ask until I get you there. Deal?"

Sam purses her lips, nodding reluctantly. "Deal. You'd better not shoot me this time." Aris holds his hands up in silent acquiescence, and she taps the Night Rod. "Tell me we're taking this one."

"No; _that_ one." 

He nods towards the machine Vala has just uncovered, and Sam blinks in surprise. What once had been a Ducati 1198 has been retrofitted with twin naquidah engines, onboard computers, and nitrous oxide tanks. "We're taking the bomb with wheels. Fantastic."

"Isn't it great?" Aris says proudly.

Vala settles on another racing bike and puts her helmet on, acting like she's done this a million times. Sam watches Aris start their mobile deathtrap, studying the main display carefully. "Those are I-70 traffic cameras," she realizes, leaning in to look.

They put their helmets on, and Aris activates the communication link. "Here's what's going to happen, Vala. As soon as Baal's signal passes one of the cameras, we're beaming into the traffic flow – get the engine ready to fire, and come out of the beam full throttle."

Vala laughs. "This is going to be so much fun."

Sam groans, climbing behind Aris and reaching around his waist. "It'll be a miracle if we're not killed." She's starting to get a good idea of what the harpoon gun is for, and she doesn't like it one bit. The engines start up, their initial whine changing to a steady throb that makes her teeth hurt.

"Thirty seconds," Aris says calmly, glancing over his shoulder at her. "If it makes you feel any better, Colonel, pretend this is the Loop of Kon Garat…twenty seconds…fifteen…ten…five…three…throttle open, _now_.” The engines scream as both he and Vala lean forward, disengaging the brakes. The bike lurches beneath her, and…

…they materialize in the middle of I-70; Sam has to grin at the astonishment on the face of one commuter, who can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that they’ve just appeared out of thin air. The Ducati jerks to the left as the wheels touch the asphalt, and Sam tightens her grip on Aris as he fights to keep it in the lane. “Vala?” Sam asks.

“No problems here,” her friend calls back cheerfully. “Maybe if Aris went on a diet, you wouldn’t have-”

“Uh huh,” Aris snorts. “Target heading for the I-25 junction; bear right.”

“Speaking of bears…”

“Vala, not _now_.”

They thread through the traffic at speeds well over the posted limit, and Sam finally sees the object of their pursuit. “That’s a water delivery truck.” The Culligan man kidnapped Baal. If she lives through the next few minutes, she’s never going to let him forget this. Maybe this means no harpoon.

As if he can read her mind, Aris lifts a hand to touch the rope. “Carter, loosen this. Vala, we need a distraction.”

Sam slips the rope from around his neck and shoulders as he returns both hands to the handgrips, looking over at Vala and returning her wave. “Good luck, Vala.”

"Don't die," her friend advises, peeling off from the surrounding cars and flying through the lanes to get ahead of the truck. 

Aris guns the engine as he weaves in and out of traffic, reaching a hand back for the coil of rope. "If you get into any trouble on that, you beam out." Ahead of them Vala cuts off the truck, making it honk and swerve onto the shoulder. “Ready?”

“Nope,” Sam returns breathlessly, tensing her muscles as they slide into the truck’s blind spot and Aris fires the gun into the undercarriage. The impact makes the vehicle rock and as he leans forward to give her room to jump, she can see the driver begin to lean out the window to look back at them. “Dammit.” She fires her zat at the mirror and the driver jerks back inside the truck, making it swerve wildly. Her next two shots, directed at the rolling door, go wide and ricochet off the concrete but the third burns out the locking mechanism.

Aris pulls on the tether as Sam carefully balances on the seat, wondering just how on earth she’s gotten herself into this. “Use my back,” he instructs, “and don’t die.”

“You two need to work on your pep talk.” She braces herself, feeling the surge of naquidah as Aris cuts the tether and shoots forward – the door is up just far enough and with a silent, near-hysterical prayer, Sam jumps.

She makes it through what she chooses to attribute to blind luck, and that’s when the real fun begins. Five Jaffa guard a strange, circular tank that can only hold the symbiote and Sam’s forcibly reminded of how challenging hand-to-hand combat in an enclosed space really is. The driver doesn't make it easy, and she's covered in bruises - even through the dense armor – by the time she neutralizes all but one guard. The remaining Jaffa drives his knee into her stomach as Sam comes in low and she falls back, winded.

The Jaffa begins reaching for a gun that's fallen from the hand of one of his unconscious friends. The truck lurches to the side, and Sam dives for the gun. In the scramble, her helmet has come off and when the Jaffa closes his fingers around the gun barrel Sam grabs the helmet and swings it as hard as she can – the handgun goes off and in the semi-enclosed space the sound is deafening.

The truck swerves again, and as Sam looks up from the Jaffa who's now laid out cold, she sees that the bullet has gone through the back of the driver's head. "Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_!" She clambers up and over the seat, trying to regain control of the vehicle. Flashing lights in the rear and side mirrors show that the police haven't exactly been caught sleeping by their stunt, and Sam crams her helmet on her head as she catches sight of Aris gesturing for attention. "The driver's dead; we need a place to pull ov-"

"Too late for that," Aris cuts in. "Vala says we’ve got tire spikes less than two clicks ahead – get the symbiote and get out."

Her first thought is that they didn't bring any sort of tank, and the one Baal's in right now is bolted down to the truck bed. Then she realizes that they actually _did_ bring a holding container for the symbiote: her. "Aris, I can't. Jolinar…"

"The Tok'ra did what it needed to do. If you can't do the same, open the door and jump now."

"Sam, quickly!" Vala yells.

There isn't much choice. All she can do is pray that the symbiote hasn't been grossly misrepresented by the host she's come to love, and hope that her will is strong enough to battle Baal's if he tries to override her consciousness. Taking a deep, steadying breath she maneuvers the dead man's body onto the accelerator and dives into the back of the truck. A well-placed shot shatters the tank and Sam peels down the lip of the armor, leaning in to present the side of her neck to the symbiote. Its tail curls around her fingers and then she feels a sharp pain in her neck, which eases immediately as the emotional overlay begins and foreign strength floods her muscles.

Baal greets her immediately, and she can feel his surprise at the Blending. 

_**Samantha.**_

"We need to go," she says aloud, pushing the door up. Aris drops back to keep pace and she hesitates, wondering why Baal hasn't fully asserted himself yet.

_**You might like to jump now.** _

"I'm going to," she snaps.

"Then do it," Aris says impatiently, not knowing to whom she's speaking. Baal's laugh echoes in her skull and she frowns despite knowing he can't actually 'see' it. "Roadblock's just ahead."

She gathers herself for the leap and launches herself into the air with symbiote-assisted strength, coming down behind Aris with a force that nearly causes him to lose control of the Ducati. Baal utilizes her vocal cords to utter a few sharp commands, and they angle towards the median. _We’re going to die_ , she thinks for the umpteenth time, and Baal laughs again. The bike veers sharply to the left as Aris vaporizes several of the orange and white construction barrels.

Her stomach lurches as they slide through the gap and Sam feels the first NOS cylinder empty to send them skidding into traffic – the secondary naquidah engine fires to keep the spin controlled. A less-seasoned combat veteran would either be screaming her lungs out or vomiting right about now, but she’s starting to feel a bit bemused at finding herself in a scene straight out of a Hollywood movie. Miraculously, none of the cars hit them though they have enough close calls to last Sam a lifetime as the second cylinder sends them hurtling into the traffic stream.

_**I believe we have just disappointed several members of the police force**_ , Baal offers as she glances over her shoulder at the blockade.

“What happened to the truck?” she wonders, trying to look, but they’re already too far away.

“I think someone woke up and drove it off the exit ramp – it doesn’t look like they’ll get very far, because I shot the tires.”

Vala’s voice filtering through her helmet makes sigh with relief. “Vala, where are you?”

“If Aris wants the motorcycle back, he’ll have to come to the Cherrytree Mall and pick it up himself. I’m going shopping.”

_**Typical female.** _

“Hey!”

Aris turns slightly. “What?”

“Not you.”

“Uh huh. Where to?”

Sam gives the other consciousness inhabiting her mind a mental prod. _Well?_  
Baal’s tone is accusatory. _**You’re being remarkably cavalier about serving as my Host.**_

“That’s because I don’t want to think about this too hard. It’s not permanent, so don’t get comfortable.”

_**Perish the thought.** _

_I’m serious_. “I know how to remove you.”

_**You think you know, and that is all.** _

So he’s going to play the bully. Right. “Aris, take the next exit – we’re going back to regroup and I need you to offer the other Baal this symbiote.”

Baal’s response is predictably incredulous as he sifts through her plan, though she senses grudging approval for it. _**This had best not jeopardize my Host**_. 

“So you agree that you can’t stay in me.”

_**There are more intriguing ways to …interact… with your body from the outside.** _

“There you go again, thinking I can’t resist you.”

“You sound like one half of an obscene phone call,” Aris complains.

“Both of you, shut up.”

“I didn’t say-”

“Mouth. Closed.” They slow to take the nearest exit, and Aris steers the bike down the embankment to the stand of trees until they’re mostly concealed from view. The sound of approaching sirens makes her glance up at the overpass. “Do you need to go back with us, or can you find your way from here?”

“Oh, I’m allowed to talk now?”

Ten years have definitely made him more annoying. “Just…make sure Vala isn’t picked up by the police, and find Baal.”

“Yes, your Highness.”

Sam curbs the impulse to tell him to shut up again, and settles for giving him a glare. He raises his eyebrows at her as she taps the pressure-sensitive panel of her armor and is beamed back to…her apartment. "What the-"

_**Think, Samantha. The island has become compromised.**_

Baal's voice echoes in her head and she walks over to the nearest mirror. He asserts enough control to make her eyes glow, and Sam catches a tantalizing glimpse of something the symbiote is trying very hard not to let her know. "What was that?" Baal doesn’t answer; he just withdraws further, and Sam has a sudden idea about his behavior. “This is the first time you’ve Blended with anyone else, isn’t it? I mean, in _this_ lifetime.” The symbiote’s ‘hiding’ from her because he’s either not able to partition her mind or else totally unwilling to do so.

_**Don't think that you are in any way special**_ , he snaps at her, his mental 'voice' sounding exactly like his human one.

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” she promises. “We should probably head to the hospital and-”

_**NO. It will be expected of me.** _

Sam stares at her reflection. “He could die,” she reminds her visitor.

_**He will live.** _

“You can’t know that; you’re not there.”

_**As touching as your concern is, you must realize that your suggestion is purely asinine**_ , Baal lectures. _**My dear brother is aware that both of us live and, while we are separated, I remain the greater threat.**_

Sam catches another flash of what Baal’s been trying to guard, and it’s enough for her to decipher the hints he’s been scattering for a very long time. “But that’s not all, is it?”

_**I am unsure of your meaning**_ , he tells her, though Sam knows he’s anything but.

“Just admit it, and we can move forward from there.”

He withdraws once more, silent for such a long time that she turns away from the mirror. She’s walking down the hall towards her bedroom, intent upon taking a shower, when Baal verbalizes an irritated sigh. _**I…care for you.**_

_That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?_ “I love you, too.” 

Maybe next time he can say it without sounding as if he’s announcing that he has herpes.


	5. A Day In The Life (Part One)

If she'd thought that pushing Baal to declare his feelings for her would make him any easier to manage, Sam is soon thoroughly disabused of that notion. She's continuously bombarded with snark, and he's discovered a particular fondness for running commentary.

_**It must be nice to be able to languish beneath the water like some sort of amphibious creature**_ , he says, trying for 'wistful' and not quite making it all the way there. _**A hippopotamus would take less time washing itself**_.

"I told you I needed a shower," she points out. "You're free to zap yourself into the next fishbowl that comes along."

_**Don't be ridiculous. I do not 'zap' anywhere.** _

"Of course you don't," Sam says, wishing he were anywhere but in her head so that she could slap him. She's half-tempted to take her sweet time getting dressed just because it would irritate him, but with her luck Aris Boch would appear and get another eyeful. "How are we supposed to get your host back? We need a plan."

_**You do not have one? Color me astonished**_.

She tugs a shirt over her head. "Be nice," she says mildly, wondering yet again why Baal is limiting himself to pissy little comments instead of simply taking over.

_**I could do so if you'd like**_ , he offers and she immediately finds herself taking her shirt off again. Baal walks them to the nearest mirror and reaches back to unhook her bra as her consciousness flails at him. "You might consider purchasing a few of these that hook in front," Baal says with her voice. "I could even have them made for you."

He abruptly cedes control and Sam hurriedly re-hooks her bra, diving for her clothing as the sound of the doorbell spurs her into motion. _**It's most likely Boch,**_ Baal volunteers, sounding amused as she hops on one foot trying to put her socks on.

Sam seriously doubts Aris would actually ring the doorbell like a civilized being, a guess that's proven right as she walks into the living room to find the big man stationed beside the front door with a gun in his hand. Dressed in a police officer's uniform that he's probably mugged someone for, since the shoulder seams are strained to the point of bursting. 

He jerks his head towards the door and when Sam opens it, lunges around to yank her visitor inside the house. Papers go everywhere as Aris knocks the suit-clad man unconscious, and Baal begins to snicker when Sam realizes that her floor is covered with several copies of The Watchtower. "Aris, that's a Jehovah's Witness."

Instead of being horrified at assaulting a missionary, Aris heads for the door excitedly. "That means there's usually two of them!"

"Oh, Lord."

_**Pun intended?** _

"Shut. Up."

Earth's newest traffic cop saunters back, dragging the limp body of the other Jehovah's Witness and looking very pleased with himself. "This makes my day, even if they _don't_ turn out to be Jaffa." 

Aris dumps the other man on the carpet and begins going through their pockets. Sam sighs and goes outside to make sure none of her neighbors saw anything – sure enough, the old man two doors down is peering over the hedge. "Guess you don't like them church people," he says curiously.

"Oh, that's just an old friend of mine," Sam explains. "He's been taking a method acting class and he can get a little carried away sometimes."

Mr. Snider nods indulgently. "Kids, eh?"

The snickering begins anew, and she shakes her head as they go back inside. _You two are making me old before my time_. "Find anything?"

Aris looks up from the two IDs in his hands. "The runner was a za'tarc – very poorly conditioned. Whoever did it was in too much of a hurry for the subliminals to stick."

Baal gives her scant warning before appropriating her vocal chords. "What identifying marks did you find?"

_Identifying marks?_ She watches curiously as Aris holds up the za'tarc ring taken from the man's hand. "This carries traces of raw naquidah and I found a few threads of fabric under his nails. Add that to the trinium dust on his shoes, and you’ve got 99.98% probability that Baal’s outfitting his Jaffa right under the SGC’s nose.”

If Sam could shake her head in disbelief, she would. The high-powered lasers that enable them to cut through trinium are at only one place on Earth - Baal’s Jaffa are at Peterson Air Force Base. _**Very good,**_ Baal thinks at her condescendingly. 

Sam tries desperately to slap him, but he still has control of her body – of course, Baal withdraws before she's ready and adds impetus to the motion so that she ends up slapping herself in the face. "Ow!" Aris looks away, obviously trying not to smile, and when he glances back towards her Baal makes her slap herself again. "Baal, dammit…!"

As soon as Aris stops laughing, they roll the dysfunctional za'tarc up into the hallway runner and carry him out to the patrol car parked at the curb. "Do I want to know how you got this?"

"Plausible deniability, isn't that what you would call it?" the big man asks cheerfully as he slides behind the wheel and starts the car. 

"Right."

The bounty hunter fills them in on his activities since he's seen them last – Vala hadn't wanted to surrender her souped-up motorcycle until he'd pointed out that she would have no place for her shopping bags, so they'd settled on calling a limousine service. Aris had transported both bikes to their original garage in Bali, and searched the estate until he'd discovered no less than thirty separate A/V units scattered about the place. "After that, it was relatively easy to contact Baal and arrange a trade," Aris finishes, steering the patrol car onto the exit ramp. "I also purchased another small island and sent your Jaffa to furnish it."

Sam ignores Baal's suddenly disgruntled mutters. "You did all that in, what, an hour?"

Aris glances over at her. "An hour? You mean, he didn't _tell_ you?"

_Tell me what, Baal?_

_**Hmm?** _

"Didn't tell me _what_ , exactly?"

"This _is_ awkward," Aris says, sounding remarkably insincere as he returns his eyes to the road. "I just can't believe he hasn't mentioned the time dilation field after all this time."

"Neither can I," she replies, angling towards the side-view mirror and glaring into it. _Well?_

_**Can you believe that I never quite got around to it?** _

_We'll discuss this later_. "We should probably go over the plan at least once more before we get there," Sam decides. "Did you figure out where he is?"

"Yes."

"And…?"

"You're not going to like it. Let's just say, he's keeping his enemies closer than his friends." Aris frowns. "Although, I don't think he _has_ any friends."

_**He's on the Odyssey.** _

_How do you kn-_

_**I am a god. Gods are all knowing.** _

"Ugh," Sam says aloud in disgust. "I don't suppose you rigged this car to beam us to Cheyenne Mountain?"

Aris shakes his head. "We couldn't use it even if I did – anyone at the SGC catching the slightest whiff of trouble headed their way would lock down the mountain. Not that I couldn't still get us in…" He glances over at her (them) quickly. "The guards at the hospital stopped three separate assassination attempts. If you want to get that thing out of your head, you'll need to move fast."

Sam's mouth goes dry, sudden fear making her heart pound. Baal projects reassurance but she can feel the anger behind it – anger and a slight hint of worry. _**He will not die, Samantha. I shall not allow it.**_

The words are so arrogant, she'd ordinarily laugh at them. _I need you both,_ she thinks, turning into the window to hide her face. 

Baal's response is unexpectedly tender as he allows her the briefest glimpse of what he feels for her. _**And that is what you shall have.**_

By the time they reach the checkpoint Sam's regained her composure and Baal's renewed his campaign of harassment, though now she doesn't really mind that much. She leans across Aris to allow the guard to recognize her, and they're waved on through. Her body is thrumming with adrenaline as they enter the elevator and she uses her ID to unlock access to the lower levels – the door is just sliding shut when a hand slides into the crack and makes the door bounce back open.

Amelia Banks, late of the Atlantis expedition, bounds into the elevator and nods to her. "Colonel, good to see y- oh."

_**Oh, here we go again**_ , Baal says grumpily as Aris looks up from…whatever he's doing to his modified TER gun.

"Hel _lo_ ," the Hunter says, eyes widening appreciatively, and Sam barely has enough time to roll _her_ eyes before he puts a big hand on her shoulder and gently but firmly shunts her aside. "I always believed that I would meet my future wife in an elevator, and here you are."

_**Ugh.** _

_I'm right there with you_. "How's Ronan doing these days?" Sam asks in vain as Amelia smiles up at Aris.

"You must be new since I've never seen you before…what were you saying, Colonel?" Amelia glances over at her, not really paying attention, and shifts her attention back to Aris. He reaches for her hand with both of his, turning on the charm as he introduces himself, and Sam feels as if she's about to be sick.

_**If you vomit on his boots, that should put paid to…whatever this is**_ , Baal suggests helpfully. Things progress from bad to worse as Aris asks for her number (miraculously, no one has a piece of actual paper though Sam knows for a fact that the Atlantis technician carries a notepad with her wherever she goes) and opens his shirt so that she can write it on his stomach.

The door _finally_ slides open at their level, and Baal gives her a hand dragging Aris out of the elevator. The big man stops to re-button his purloined shirt, frowning down at the numbers on his abdomen. "Is that a nine or a zero?"

"Are you coming or not?" she snaps at him.

"Don't I just wish that I was," Aris says, glancing over his shoulder as he tucks his shirt in. "You two head to the cafeteria, and I'll make sure the base shielding makes an exception for you." Shoving a hand into his pocket, the bounty hunter pulls out a high security clearance badge and clips it on his shirt as Sam starts walking away. 

She strides faster as they round the corner and approach the side corridor leading to the dining hall. "Maybe we should have decided to take Aris up there with us," Sam says. "He makes a bigger target." She passes two SFs, who look at her as if she's lost her mind, and she reaches up to tap her ear. "Headset." They nod understandingly.

_**He's more useful to us here, where he can guard my host,**_ Baal reminds her. 

_I know that. There's just a lot riding on the outcome of this._

_**Courage, my sweet. Nothing can stop us.**_

The endearment heartens her, pushing back the battle weariness. _Why did you put the locator beacon in the cafeteria, of all places?_

_**One would expect such a thing to be in a storage closet, or perhaps an office of some sort. My dear brother has so many informants, I would think he's lost track of where they all are – the base has been searched for the very thing that's attached to the bottom of an industrial sized can of pickles.** _

"Pickles?" Sam exclaims aloud, then has to tap her ear again when she receives even more strange looks. " _Headset._ "

Before they reach the cafeteria, Sam's bladder reminds her that it's past time to visit a restroom and she veers off into the closest one. She's been trying to ignore the discomfort for the past hour, but she can't put it off any longer. _Can you just… I don't know, go to sleep until I'm done?_

_**Why in the world would I do that?**_ Baal asks, genuinely baffled. _**Every living being voids its waste, so why should you be any different?**_

_Because,_ Sam thinks at him, _most women don't think this is a spectator sport_.

_**Most women are incapable of walking into a bathroom by themselves, Samantha.** _

Unbelievable. _It would be different if you were female. Baal, please?_

Baal snorts as he finally realizes what her problem is. _**As you wish.**_ His presence in her mind fades, and Sam gives a sigh of relief as she runs into the nearest stall – he keeps silent until she's washing her hands. _**I wouldn't have had you pegged as that easily embarrassed.**_

"I'm not. Not really," Sam admits. The whole thing seems silly now that it's behind them…so to speak. "When you have a romantic interest in someone, the last thing you want to do is publicize your private bodily functions. Goa'uld don't seem to share that particular taboo, but most humans do – I'd really appreciate it if you could respect that."

_**As my Queen wishes, so shall I obey,**_ he says facetiously as the bathroom door swings inward and yet another person looks at her curiously because she's talking to herself.

"Head. Set."

They reach the cafeteria and Sam fabricates an excuse for going into the supply closet – there's a moment of slight panic when neither of them can locate the pickle jar, but Baal spies it high up on a shelf. She pulls it down, allowing Baal control of her limbs, and watches from inside herself as he keys in the coordinates to the _Odyssey_. A secondary line of code is introduced so that they can beam back into the base, and he extends her left wrist towards the small device so that it's properly synchronized.

"Ready?" Baal asks with her voice, placing the jar back where they'd found it.

_No, but we have to go anyway_.

He keeps control of her body as they materialize in Cargo Bay 12, and she forces herself to remain calm. They'd discussed this, and Sam had given him permission for it, but the memory of Jolinar is still too close for comfort. _**You rarely make an open display your worry and discomfort,**_ Baal tells her. _**It is good to know that you still feel it.**_

_What's that supposed to mean?_

_**It means that you have given me all the encouragement I could ever want.** _

If she had control of the body, she'd pinch the bridge of her nose and sigh. _Do you have to be so irritating? Just when I think you've – oh, make sure to greet that Private coming up on your left; he'll know something's wrong if I don't speak to him_ , Sam says quickly, supplying the Marine's name for Baal to use. This is just too good an opportunity to pass up, and she carefully keeps her mind blank as the man draws closer.

Her head dips as Baal nods it. "Private Parrtes."

As soon as the words leave her lips, Baal realizes the joke and the Marine – PFC Ryan Parr – gives them a strange look as he walks on by. _**Really, Samantha? 'Private Parts'? That's a new low even for you.**_

_You keep a record of the depths to which I sink? How encouraging._

_**Irritating Tau'ri… upstart.** _

_You were going to say 'female,' weren't you? God, you're such a jackass._

_**I briefly considered it. I wouldn't want to encourage you… though it is nice to hear you properly addressing me.** _

_As soon as we get you back to your Host, I'm dumping you._

They quickly learn that the amount of naquidah on board the _Odyssey_ makes it virtually impossible to track Other Baal, and her Baal growls in irritation at the unusually high ore levels. _**He is most likely preparing to beam another group of explosive devices somewhere on the planet; the concentration is much too high for simply demolishing this ship.**_

_Ships. He has Jaffa at the shipyard – wouldn't_ you _try to take out the whole place?_

Baal sighs, sharing the projected outcome with her. _**The stock market, which** is **something I would want to destroy, was nothing more than an elaborate ruse. Tau'ri cease to be a threat if they no longer possess the technology to travel beyond Earth… so yes, the shipyard is indeed endangered, as is the currently mobilized fleet.**_

Sam sifts through his thoughts – the ships are only the first blow. _He'd need to make the Gate inaccessible by either altering Earth's orbit or destroying the Gate itself… but he's tried destroying it and failed at least three times._

_**Travel through the Star Gate has ceased for the moment, but Tau'ri are nothing if not tenacious and he knows you will fix it. The only way it could not be fixed was if Earth was no longer at its present coordinates.**_ Baal supplies a mental diagram of Earth, the satellites ringing the planet, and the current fleet of _Daedalus_ class ships. _**If enough naquidah was placed on all five battle cruisers, and the satellites reprogrammed to converge on an exact spot to coincide with the ships' placement…**_

_He'd have to get all of the 302s up there, as well. All that naquidah, blowing at the same time._ Sam feels sick to her stomach; a concentrated blast of that magnitude would be more than enough to nudge Earth out of orbit. _With the satellites gone, it would be hard to pinpoint our exact location if the explosion doesn't cause irreparable damage to the atmosphere. He'd have to hit us with some sort of synchronized, worldwide EMP to make sure we can't figure out where we are – it's safe to say Cape Canaveral is on the hit list, too._

_**An EMP triggered at the exact same time as the explosions… that would not be hard to set up**_ , Baal says thoughtfully. Sam tries to tune him out as he begins calculating where the synchronized pulses would originate from and how far apart they would need to be; he sounds a little too fascinated with the problem for her peace of mind. Just when she gets used to how 'human' he's become, she's forcibly reminded that he's not human at all.

_Okay, Sam, think. How could he make sure all the ships went up at the same time?_ Sam asks herself, trying to think it through. Baal's always been a programming genius, so it's probably some sort of virus in the central computers. Most of the F-302s are stored in the hangars of the mammoth cruisers, so they would literally go wherever the cruisers went – maybe the Jaffa would steal the rest of the 302s stored elsewhere. _How would they know for sure that they'd gotten all of them? A virus is a fairly safe bet, because he's good at creating and introducing them, but there's always a chance that it would be detected and purged._

_**He would have a contingency plan,**_ Baal says suddenly. _**The only way to ensure every single ship on the planet is at the same place at the same time… is to have the executive branch of your country's government order it done.**_

Executive branch.

The president.

_Well, he certainly doesn't aim low._

Baal is silent for a few moments, and Sam suddenly realizes that he's given her body back to her – and that they've been standing in the middle of the hallway for at least two minutes. Sam sighs and shuffles to the inner bulkhead, wondering why Aris had told them that Baal was here.

Her Baal coughs delicately. _**He didn't exactly tell us he was here.**_

_Yes, he did. I specifically remember him saying… wait._

Sam straightens suddenly as she remembers the conversation. Aris _hadn't_ said that. Baal, on the other hand… 

_All knowing, huh? How many times has that come back to bite you on the-_

_**If we hadn't come here, we wouldn't have known about the naquidah… now, would we?** _

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." She hastens towards the bridge where some very fast talking convinces Stephen Caldwell to beware of any incoming ships – he agrees to wait until the command comes through before getting the _Odyssey_ to safety; if he orders a full-scale lockdown, there's no guarantee that Baal won't find out about it.

Caldwell rubs his chin thoughtfully. "You'll never make it into the White House. If you want to get to him, you need to get him out of there… pity we can't just start firing at the front lawn. Spencer over there is a top notch marksman."

"Doesn't the IOA have operatives within the Secret Service?" Sam asks when Baal prompts her with an idea. "If we can get word to them, they could plant locator beacons in Air Force One… how many does he have, two?"

The other man nods his head. "They plant the beacons in each plane, and stage an attack on the White House so he's sure to board. I've got the cliché friend of a friend who can get word to the operatives so if you handle the terrorist threats, we can get you on your way. Not a bad plan," he says admiringly. "I hope you have one for making sure you get that snake out of the President."

_Well? Do we?_

_**Perhaps.** _

_This is my Commander in Chief we're talking about, here. 'Perhaps' isn't good enough._

_**Well,** I **don't like him.**_ Baal shares his idea, which involves a variation of his microchip and a very long needle… it looks like perhaps is all they have. They contact Daniel, who seems remarkably blasé about the whole thing, and arrange for SG-1 to take over guard duty so that Aris can go cause trouble on Pennsylvania Avenue. Daniel informs her that General Landry is out of surgery and doing well; security is tighter than ever with the Vice President scheduled to visit. Cam isn't happy at all to hear what she's been up to without him, and Sam tells him she'll make it up to them.

"This is all getting ridiculously easy," Sam comments as she cradles her tea mug in her hands and looks out of the reinforced window at the planet below. "You give us an edge because you're _him_ , but something about this doesn't seem quite right." Everything seems so… convoluted, and she's becoming a little dizzy with all the beaming back and forth that they're doing. _I think we need to find out where Aris arranged the meeting, and it's a bad idea to stay here longer than we need to – for all we know, Baal's spies could have reported that they've seen me. Let’s get to the infirmary for that needle, and pick up a zat._

Caldwell is arguing with Woolsey about giving the necessary orders to IOA agents – apparently one of his contacts wasn't as reliable as he thought they were – when Sam and Baal take their leave, beaming back down to Earth as close to D.C. as they can arrange. "After this is over with, I'm putting a moratorium on using Asgard technology," Sam announces, flagging down a cab with vigorous arm movements. "1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, please," she tells the driver, who mutters something about tourists as he pulls away from the curb.

_**Don't give him a tip.** _

_Be nice._

When they arrive in front of the White House, Sam gives the driver a tip anyway and reaches for her cell as she climbs out of the cab. _**I wouldn't bother,**_ Baal advises. _**He's right over there.**_

Aris has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches her. "You went to the wrong place, genius."

"You didn't tell us where the _right_ place was."

" _You_ have a 2,000 year old eel in your head who claims to be all knowing. Guess that didn't exactly pan out." The Hunter jerks his chin at the building on the other side of the tall fence. "The security measures are laughable, and I have a date in thirty minutes – what kind of breach do you want?"

_**Large enough to pose a serious threat to Hayes' life,**_ Baal suggests for Sam to pass along. _**No casualties.**_

"Where _was_ the meeting supposed to take place?" she asks as the big man drops the backpack he's had slung over one shoulder and unzips it.

Aris clips a personal forcefield generator to his belt and gathers up two guns before a handful of police come running. "Peterson," he says, jumping up onto the fence and tossing a flash bang onto the sidewalk. "You'd better start running before that goes off."

_**Allow me,**_ Baal sighs as he seizes control of Sam's motor functions and wheels her about to sprint in the opposite direction. The noise of the flash bang's detonation makes her ears ring and Baal brings her hands up to shade her eyes from the light burst as they easily pull ahead of the two officers attempting to pursue them. Her stomach lurches as he runs her up and over a few parked cars (and some that are still moving), ending in a spectacular and completely unnecessary leap onto a fire escape ladder.

Showoff.

They end up on someone's roof looking over at the White House as staffers exit in a steady, panicked stream and mingle with the law enforcement officers who are swarming over the lawn. _I wonder what he's doing in there._

An explosion soon answers her question, and Baal laughs. _**He just blew up the West Wing.**_

Her phone buzzes against her hip, and Sam lifts it up to talk to Caldwell. "Tell me the beacons have been planted, Steve." He confirms, telling her of a transmission that had come through seconds before; the call to mobilize the fleet. "It'll take about two hours for the ships to even come close to you. If you have a few people you _know_ you can trust, have them start mapping the locations of all the excess naquidah – the moment any other vessel is in range, transport it as far out as you can get it and get out of there."

Caldwell disconnects after warning her of another message sent by Baal – they have less than an hour to surrender the planet before he delivers the first set of pathogens into the atmosphere. _Boy, this day keeps getting better and better. Let's hitch a ride on Air Force One and get this over with._

_**Let's.**_

Of course, they beam aboard the decoy.

"Damn it!"

"Who's back there?" a voice demands, and Sam dives below the conference room's table. Great. Just… great. She digs out her phone and hurriedly texts Caldwell that he's beamed her onto the wrong plane. Hopefully he'll get it and send them over before she's discovered and the plane actually carrying Hayes is warned. "Come out with your hands-" Baal borrows her body long enough to swing her right leg out, slam her boot heel into the man's knee and when he starts to fall, knock him unconscious with a blow from her fist.

The subdermal beacon in her neck pulls them out of one plane and into the other, and Sam finds herself beneath the conference table once again – only this time, they're ringed by several pairs of knees. _**I don't suppose you know what your beloved Commander in Chief's socks look like,**_ Baal quips. 

She can feel Baal's surplus strength flooding her muscles, but he doesn't take over. Sam draws herself up into a crouch, careful not to tread on anyone's shoes, and explodes upwards. The table goes flying, and she gets a glimpse of some very surprised Cabinet members before she hears shouting further along the plane. _Secret Service doesn't waste any time,_ Sam thinks, and heads through the door in a hail of bullets from the first responders. 

Pain lances into her side and left leg as she fires her zat’nik’tel indiscriminately; Baal dulls the ache and pushes her faster. Alerted by the sudden change in air pressure, Sam throws her left arm up to block a punch aimed at the base of her skull. They’re nearly surrounded by Secret Service, and she does the only thing she can think of that will slow the agents down. Swinging her zat around to aim it at the bank of windows, she stands tall and stares them down. “Any closer, and I’ll open a window.”

Now that they have her ‘contained,’ the shouts and the panic dies down enough for Baal to pick out individual voices. _**Keep them still while I listen for him. If he is here, he will stay to gloat.**_

“Don’t move,” one of them warns her, edging forward until Sam readjusts her grip on the zat. 

“Which one of you knows Stephen Caldwell?” she asks, unpleasantly aware of the blood tricking down her leg as Baal quickly sifts through peripheral conversations. “Maybe I should ask, which one of you has a friend of a friend of Caldwell…”

_**I have him,**_ Baal suddenly announces, not only providing a mental map of the area in which they’ll find President Hayes, but the maneuvers it will take to get them there. _**Go.**_

_I’m going_. Sam leans to the right in a feint that has half of them moving towards her, then jumps up to brace her foot on the edge of the closest chair. Kicking out at the agents rushing on the left, Sam pushes up into the air for a jump that takes down another man – as they hit the floor, she rolls with the impact and comes up on her knees behind the agent. "Sorry about this," she apologizes as she wraps an arm around his neck and shoves the blunt end of the zat against the side of his throat. "I'm not here to kill Hayes."

She urges him backwards, and the other agents follow closely with their guns trained on her. When they reach the smaller hallway leading to the Presidential Suite, Sam transfers the zat to her other hand and reaches for the carefully wrapped needle she's taped to her side. "Slowly turn to the side," she orders, making sure her back is pressed against the wall so that the agent consistently provides a larger target. "Now open that door."

"Not gonna happen," he grunts at her.

_**Samantha.**_

"Open it," Sam demands.

_**Sam.**_

"Not now," she hisses, pressing the zat into the man's neck even harder.

"What?"

"I wasn't talking to you."

_**SAMANTHA.**_

" _What?"_

"What's your problem, lady?"

_**He's not behind that door; he's not aboard this plane. We've been tricked.**_

Oh, for God's sake. "I've had just about all of this I can take," Sam growls. She braces herself against the wall and shoves the agent aside, leveling the zat at them as she kicks the door open. Henry Hayes is huddled in a corner with his wife, ringed by five more men and women with guns. "President Hayes, do you remember me?"

"Put the gun _down_ ," the woman directly in front of the president bellows at her.

"Shut up," Sam roars back at her. "Mister President, I'm from the SGC."

Hayes peers at her from beneath a Secret Service agent's elbow. "Uh… Carthage, wasn't it?"

"Carter. Look, could you please have them stand down? I'm not here to kill you – I thought you might have been a Goa'uld."

"A Goa'uld?" he says skeptically.

"Yes sir, a Goa'uld."

The First Lady raises her head to stare across at Sam. "Why on Earth would you think Henry is one of those things? Are you on _drugs?_ "

Sam lowers her zat to explain, and immediately feels the burning pain of gunshot wounds in her chest as the agents from the hallway storm the room. She falls back and Baal's strength deserts her as he immediately withdraws to patch her wounds – she's been shot before, but nothing quite like this. Agony spreads through her veins like wildfire, and a haze of red clouds her vision. _We don't have time to die_ , she thinks absurdly. Baal doesn't answer her. "Cal…Caldwell," Sam gasps out just loud enough for Amanda Hayes, who's still staring at her, to hear.

"Get her _out_ of here," the President says. "I honestly don't know what's wrong with her. If Landry were available, I'd…" his voice fades as Sam is dragged out and into the medical room where she's roughly placed on the bed and handcuffs bite into her wrists while she's frisked for weapons. 

She can't believe this – all the signs pointed to Hayes playing host to Baal. It made so much sense, how could they have gotten it so wrong? The pain makes her body twist and pull against her bonds, and she's vaguely aware of _her_ Baal trying to stem the flow of blood. He triggers the release of more endorphins, and the pain recedes.

Sam turns her head and closes her teeth around the cold metal bars of the gurney as she feels each bullet wound begin to throb. As the pressure begins to build beneath the seven holes in her skin, she bites down and sorts through the facts as they know them. 

Baal and his plans within plans within plans. He doesn't want her clone to be alive, period, because her Baal is a Goa'uld/Ancient hybrid who can operate both sets of technology and is the only real protection Earth has. With symbiote and host separated, he's trying to gain control of Earth by any means necessary… and those means seem to include wiping out as much tech as he can by way of a massive EMP and an orbital shift that would make the Stargate program obsolete.

Biting on the gurney's railing harder as she feels the first lump of metal squeeze its way out of her skin, Sam concentrates on the fact that only an order from the executive branch could get the entire fleet moving. The rest of the bullets work their way out, and she takes several deep breaths as the wounds begin to close. They'd been so sure that Baal would control Hayes because when it came to the Stargate, the President of the United States was considered to be Earth's leader… but the executive branch wasn't just the president. 

_He's in Jerold Seifer; the Vice President._

_**That makes sense. If we killed Hayes by mistake, he would automatically become President,**_ Baal says thoughtfully.

_We have to get out of here and back to the hospital. Daniel said Seifer was due to visit Landry; what do you want to bet that he stops by to see your host?_

_**You're in no shape to go anywhere.**_ The words are gentle, but she can sense the simmering rage beneath them. _**They will pay dearly for wounding you.**_

_They had no other choice,_ Sam says tiredly, rolling her head to look at the ceiling. _It's their job, Baal._

_**It is a mate's duty to uphold his Queen's honor in all things.**_

She hears raised voices outside the door, and looks over at the agents standing watch over her. _So I'm your Queen now, am I?_

_**I have always considered you to be so.**_

_Does that mean I get an outrageous wardrobe to match yours?_

_**And then her stunted sense of humor returned to her with a pronounced limp and a highly contagious rash.**_

"Funny," Sam says aloud, craning her neck to see what's going on as the door begins to open.

The First Lady walks in, flanked by several guards who don't look pleased at being there. "I ask again: why do you think the President is a Goa'uld?" she demands.

Sam has to clear her throat twice before she can speak. "I don't. Not anymore – if you spoke to Colonel Caldwell, I'm sure he's told you why I thought so. Mrs. Hayes, it's the Vice President who was taken as a host."

"How can you be so sure? You thought my husband was one of those things up until ten minutes ago," the other woman reminds her.

"Well… I can't be sure. All evidence shows that it's extremely likely and I have an obligation to stop him from what he's trying to do."

Amanda Hayes narrows her eyes at Sam. "What exactly is 'he' trying to do? Stephen mentioned that this Goa'uld is the same one who is going to poison the atmosphere in under fifteen minutes – he was trying to arrange a treaty when you showed up."

_Fifteen minutes! Baal, we need to **go**._ "He's trying to murder the clone that saved Earth a few weeks ago." Sam quickly explains why her clone is first on Baal's hit list, and tells the other woman about Seifer's impending visit to Landry's bedside. "A lot of it has been a smoke screen, keeping us guessing what he's up to and keeping us too busy to do anything about it. Landry's in his crosshairs as well."

"If President Hayes had been taken by one of those… things, were you going to kill him?" she asks Sam quietly.

Sam looks back at her. "No ma'am. I was carrying a needle – I don't know where it is right now – with a microchip in it. If the President was Baal's host, I would have injected the chip into the symbiote, and have it beamed into a holding tank."

The First Lady holds out a hand to one of the agents, who places a tiny mound of crushed glass and metal into her palm. "I'm afraid the needle didn't quite make it, Colonel. If there is any way to extract that monster from Jerold Seifer without killing him, please take it. Unlock her handcuffs, and let her leave." This last is directed to one of the Secret Servicemen who had shot Sam in the chest, and his eyes are unfriendly as he does as ordered.

_**This one won't be missed by anyone,**_ Baal seethes.

Sam sits up carefully, lowering her head so that if he wrestles control from her no one would see her eyes flash. _Let it go._

"I expect a full report after this is all over," Mrs. Hayes tells her. "Don't make me regret turning you loose."

"Yes, ma'am."

_**I can find him again. Check behind the tragus of your right ear.**_

She dimly remembers that one of the many piercings Cassandra had driven Janet crazy with had been a tragus piercing, and lifts her hand to carefully hook a finger inside her ear – sure enough, there's a thin piece of metal there. _When did you put that there?_

_**We'll discuss it later, assuming my Jaffa aren't 'asleep at the wheel' as you might say.**_

The pull of Asgard beaming technology proves that his Jaffa are very much awake wherever and whomever they might be and they materialize (for what Sam fervently hopes is the last time) in an unoccupied hospital room. "My Lord?" a voice inquires from outside, and Sam blinks in astonishment upon recognizing the elderly doorman from Baal's penthouse. "Your host has awakened several times, but is still very weak. I recommend immediate Blending." He holds out a white lab coat, and she slips it on over her torn and bloodstained clothing.

Baal borrows her vocal cords to ask, “Who is with him now?”

“The Ilempiri Hunter guards him.” The man holds the door open for them deferentially, ushering Sam down the hall past the blank stares of the people in the waiting room. 

“Any word on the Vice President…?” Sam asks. “I’m sorry, he never told me your name.”

The doorman smiles kindly at her. “He calls me ‘Jeeves.’”

“You can’t be serious,” she tells both of them. 

“I believe Vice President Seifer is holding a press conference outside, Colonel. He’s scheduled to meet with your General Landry directly after.”

“ _Sam!_ ” Cameron Mitchell comes barreling down the hall towards them. “What’s this I hear about you trying to kill the President? And why – oh my God, you’ve been shot! _We need a doctor over here_ ” he howls at the nearest nurse station, ignoring Sam’s frantic signals for silence.

“I wasn’t trying to kill anyone, be _quiet_ ,” Sam hisses at him.

Her friend looks down at her. “No, that was probably the Goa’uld in your pocket. Are you insane, Sam?”

_**I will knock him unconscious, I swear it.**_

“Just… walk with us, Cam.” He reluctantly falls in step with them as they hurry to the high-security ward where the officers on the higher end of the food chain are ensconced. She's still bringing him up to speed on their Matrix-style highway rescue when Baal seizes her body and begins to run, because he's just sensed the other symbiote and it's definitely _not_ outside holding a press conference. 

"Sam, what the hell?"

They skid around the corner and as they get closer Sam picks up on the metallic buzz smell-sound-feel of naquidah. Baal follows it into another corridor; they hear the drone of a flatline as he makes her body shoulder the door open. There, standing over the bed, is the Vice President of the United States. Aris is nowhere to be seen.


	6. A Day In The Life, Part 2

Locked inside her own body, Sam catches a glimpse of her reflection in the window as her eyes glow with rage. Grief lies like a stone on her chest even though anger helps keep the crushing weight of it at bay. "You go no farther," she hears her voice say, augmented by the symbiote's flanged twang.

Seifer/Baal looks across at them, a smile on his features. "I could say the same for you, once I reattach the monitor to the control board. Who do you think they'll believe killed this man?" His smile widens unpleasantly as he reaches to turn down the volume on the main monitor. "Did you enjoy your time with the President?"

"Where's your security detail?"

"Where's _yours?_ " Seifer counters. "Oh, that's right… he traded me your Host's room number for a fleet of al'kesh."

What? _He couldn't have_ , Sam exclaims, startled. He wouldn't have… unless Baal had been lying to him about knowing where Nirrti's Jaffa had gone. _You didn't lie to him about that, did you?_

_**I might have embellished a little,**_ Baal admits, evaluating the room for possible weapons and failing to hear the door opening behind them.

"In fact… here he is now," the Vice President says just as arms wrap around her from behind. Baal struggles, but Aris simply tightens his grip until they can barely breathe – moving is out of the question. 

Sam, remembering the barely-healed scar on his forearm, relays this to Baal and he slowly relaxes. As soon as Aris lets up the pressure on her ribcage, Sam ducks her head and bites his arm as hard as she can. He grunts angrily and, shifting his grip on her, lifts his other hand to deal her an open-handed wallop across the face. "Do you need her able to talk?" he demands.

"The autopsy might show that she's been gagged – that's if they even bother to conduct one. Just keep them silent," the other Baal orders.

Aris gives her a rough shake that rattles her teeth and clamps one of his big hands over her mouth, leaning in close to her ear. "Bite me again, and you'll regret it." His fingers squeeze her jaw warningly, and both Baal and Sam are surprised when they feel him pushing something into her mouth. What...?

_**Oxygen capsule. Don't bite down on it just yet.**_ He moves her eyes around the room quickly, a gesture meant to broadcast nervousness in front of his brother clone but also to look for something specific. _**There, beneath the bed.**_

There is an oxygen tank just barely visible behind a bedpan, and Sam wonders how Aris managed to get a hold of so much symbiote poison. If only there was a way to save Seifer… but the needle they'd prepared had been shattered aboard Air Force One. Aris lowers his hand, and loosens his grip even more as he looks over at the man on the far side of the bed. "I hope you don't plan on returning to your original Host," Aris says conversationally.

Seifer/Baal's eyes narrow. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean, you _could_ go back. I just don't think you'd _want_ to since you just killed him." Seifer begins to back towards the window, raising his right hand to reach for his watch. He grabs it, and Aris spins Sam out of the circle of his arms as Seifer's face falls when nothing happens. "I jammed the signal, so you're out of luck."

Sam lifts the tank and Baal uses her hands to open the nozzle as she bites down on the oxygen capsule tucked in her cheek. "We had a deal," Seifer wails, reaching up a hand to claw at his neck. _He's still alive,_ Sam announces.

_**You just ate a children's multivitamin,**_ Baal points out, puzzled in his own turn before realizing that Aris has pulled a fast one on _everyone_ in the room just because he can. _**That isn't symbiote gas.**_

They walk forward to peer over the edge of the hospital bed at Seifer, who's crumpled on the floor grabbing his neck in confusion and looking around wildly. "Still not dead," Baal confirms aloud.

Aris finishes straightening his clothes – an expensive-looking suit, this time – and walks over to grasp the neck of the whistling oxygen tank. "Excuse me a moment," he says politely before lifting it up and back. Seifer, eyes bulging, scrambles to his feet to run but doesn't make it even half a pace before Aris gives the tank a powerful underhanded swing that fills the air with a resounding _WHANG!_ as it connects. Vice President Jerold Seifer strikes the window hard enough to send a spider web crack snaking along the tempered glass. "I don't like being stabbed," the big man says thoughtfully, then looks over at Sam. "I don’t like being _bitten,_ either. Colonel."

She winces. "Sorry about that."

_**My Host**_ , Baal says impatiently, as if he's blind to how anxious _she_ is about him.

"Aris, if this isn't the Host we want then where-"

"One minute," the big man says, walking over to reconnect the EKG machine. Instead of a flatline, however, the steady _blip_ of the heart monitor fills the room. "He was so anxious to kill his clone, he didn't stop to make sure the correct monitors were plugged in – or that the man he was trying to kill was in a medically induced coma so smothering wouldn't work. You want Room A-263."

He sets about using zip-ties to restrain the unconscious Goa'uld on the floor as they leave, still slightly bewildered at this turn of events. _We got him; we **stopped** him_. She walks back out the door, her foot hitting a wire stretched across the very bottom of the threshold – a trigger releasing the sound dampening field that Aris must have set up before he came in.

She can hear Cam's voice one corridor over; they must have really been going fast for him to lose track of her. _**I thought it best to hurry,**_ Baal murmurs semi-apologetically. Her friend is starting to sound a bit over-excited by the time she reaches the elevator bay and he catches sight of her.

" _Sam!_ " Cameron yells out at her, then balls his hands into fists and flails a little before turning his back and burying his face in his hands.

_**Is he having a seizure?**_ Baal asks interestedly.

_No, he’s just trying not to jump up and down and scream. It doesn’t happen to him often, but when it does it’s something to see_ , Sam replies. “For what it’s worth, Cam, I thought you were right behind me.”

“Okay, yeah. That’s great.” Cam sucks air into his lungs noisily and blows it out at an even louder volume. “I can’t believe you did it to me again, Sam. You said you wouldn’t, but then you went ahead and did it anyway and… and…”

“Sorry. Have you seen Jeeves around anywhere?” she sidles away from him in room A-263’s general direction, and Cam stumps after her while pouting as hard as he can. _Oh my God, we totally forgot about Nirrti’s pathogens and the EMP plans-_

_**Which will not happen. The press conference, which he will now never attend, was to have issued a warning of a possible technological breakdown.**_

_How do you know that? How do you know that the pathogens were just a ploy to mess with our heads?_

_**I am a God. Gods are-** _

_Don’t you dare finish that sentence, you glorified eel._

_**Back to the insults now, are we?** _

_We don’t have to be, and you know it. Let’s just get to the room._

“Sam?” Cameron waves his hand in front of her face. “Anybody home?” Baal makes her eyes glow at him, and Cam snatches his hand back quickly. “Whoa. Look, is that… permanent? Or what?”

“As soon as we get to the room, it’ll be over,” Sam promises tiredly. “How’s General Landry doing?” Cam fills her in on the details of Landry’s recovery, and all the gossip that’s been flying around ever since a traffic camera got a picture of them on the motorcycles. They arrive at the room to find Teal’c and Daniel stationed at the door, and they can hear Vala inside talking to Baal’s Host. “Give us a minute? I promise I won’t get caught up in any more adventures today.”

Her friend nods reluctantly and plants himself by the door just in case, and Sam goes in to greet Vala. Baal – she’s still not used to referring to both of them by the same name – is waiting for her and the sheer relief at seeing him there, alive, makes tears prick at her eyes. Vala rapidly excuses herself after giving Sam a quick embrace, and Baal holds a hand out for hers as Sam settles onto the side of his bed. “Hi,” he greets her. His voice sounds rusty from disuse, a side effect of the breathing tube that had been installed during surgery. A robe as well as blankets mounded up around his waist cover the bandages wrapped around his stomach and abdomen. His hair is fuzzy and knotted, he’s in dire need of a shave, and he looks more handsome than ever. He’s alive.

“Hi,” she whispers back, clenching his fingers tightly. She’s missed touching him. Looking at him. 

“And did you miss me?” Baal asks, shifting on the bed carefully to make himself more comfortable. He reaches his other arm over, the one with the IV taped to it, and covers her hand with his.

_Yes._

What a stupid time to start crying. She’s been flung around by Asgard beam countless times, Blended with a Goa’uld symbiote, been on a high speed chase, saved the planet, fought for the life of the one she loves, and she’s nearly been killed by the Secret Service. Now, when they're safe and it’s over, she’s crying. 

Baal pulls on her hands weakly, guiding her down so that he can place his arms around her and settle her head on his shoulder. It feels so good to be held, and to know he’s safe. The symbiote broadcasts reassurance and reminds her stiffly (and a bit awkwardly) that he loves her, too. Sam raises her head, pushing away slightly in case she’s hurting him, and Baal strokes the side of her face as he looks into her eyes. “Thank you.”

"Sorry, I just-" she sniffles and rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, trying to focus on something else so the waterworks stop. "Sorry."

His fingers are gentle as he brushes the tears from her cheeks, and Baal – both of them – prompt her for a kiss. _So this is goodbye._

_**You can't rid yourself of me quite that easily**_ , Baal promises. The heightened senses that she'd gotten used to start to fade as the symbiote voluntarily disconnects from her brain stem while she shares a kiss with his Host. Sam cups his jaw, opening her mouth wider, and feels the symbiote slide through her soft palate as it returns to Baal.

His eyes burn with incandescent light as he draws back from her, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger while he studies her intently. Sam has to admit that she feels…empty, somehow. "You're not hearing echoes in all that space between your ears, are you?" Baal asks, making her frown at him. 

She opens her mouth (which is slightly sore from the symbiote's exit wound) to reply, but he silences her with another kiss and hauls her over on top of him with strength that wasn't there a minute ago. _You'll hurt yourself_ , she thinks before realizing that he can't hear her thoughts anymore.

"I'll be fine," he murmurs against her lips, smiling when she draws back in shock. "My sweet, you are an open book to those who know how to read you." The bruises on his face are already fading, as are the pain-etched lines around his eyes. How could she have forgotten what a beautiful shade of brown they are?

The door opens to admit Jeeves (she'll have to do something about that absurd name), who gives them a pleased smile as he bustles up to the side of the bed. "It is good to see that you are yourself again, my Lord. My Lady, if I may…?" Sam moves back as the elderly Jaffa sets about disconnecting his master from the monitoring equipment and making Baal look more presentable. "I've mentioned to Lady Samantha's colleagues outside that you will gladly answer any questions they have once I have finished setting you to rights, Sir. If you'd like to take this opportunity to recuperate, Aris has informed me that the time dilation field in your new estate has been established."

"What is the current setting?" Baal asks, craning his neck to allow the other man to finish shaving him with a curious device Sam's never seen before.

"Four sevendays - pardon me; four _weeks_ \- per hour, Lord Baal."

"What about the EMP?" Sam interrupts. "We can't just leave it like this." 

Jeeves dabs Baal's face and neck with a damp towel and goes to work combing his hair before answering her. "I believe my Lord's _other_ employee" he pauses to make sure both of them realize how much he disapproves "has ensured that each country's military is well aware of the situation, and Colonel Caldwell has devised a way to extract all of the surplus naquidah from Earth's fleet. There remains no danger."

Sam has to grin at the look on the old man's face. "I take it you and Aris don't get along that well."

"The boy is completely indecent, Lady Samantha. When he left to set up my Lord's estate, he returned positively _reeking_ of that young Tau'ri woman he's been cavorting with."

_Well, that's a little too much information. Poor Amelia._

"Shall we, my dear?" Baal asks. "I'm relatively certain that he's had the sheets changed."

"Ugh." Sam pulls a face, then realizes something. "Wait a minute. I thought your place was compromised when symbiote-you was Goa'uldnapped, so where is your new 'estate?'"

Jeeves has completely detangled Baal's hair (she's not quite sure why he couldn't have done that himself, but she knows better than to actually ask him) and is almost finished removing the bandages around his master's midsection. "I managed to procure another Balinese island, given how taken both you and Lord Baal were with the first. The artisans have been working around Earth's clock to finish the main building – I'm told the carved stone steps are a wonder to behold, my Lady."

"Can we stop with the 'my Lady' stuff, please?"

"Certainly, my Lady."

"We also need to find you a new name. And stop calling me Lady."

"Yes, my Queen."

She sighs, shaking her head. "Oh, boy."

"And again I ask: shall we, my _Lady?_ " Baal says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "The rest of SG-1 won't be entering this room for at least 45 minutes. If we leave now, we can spend three full weeks in paradise and be back before anyone realizes that we've gone." The heated look in his eyes is a promise of what _he_ terms 'paradise'.

It's not really appropriate to leave like this, while her superiors are still waiting for answers and she has so much to explain… but she's had enough, and a little voice inside her head whispers that she could really use a break. Besides, wouldn't it be better to face the inquiry – and maybe even a court martial – when she's fully rested and better able to hold her own? "We shall," Sam decides, placing her hand in his. He smiles back at her and even his Jaffa looks delighted at her choice as they beam away, which is slightly creepy. 

They materialize at the foot of steps carved into a cliff face – it really is a wonder to behold. It's beautiful, and so is the rest of the island; what she can see of it from her vantage point, that is. Surf crashes against the rocks as they slowly move up the stairs hand-in-hand, and she gazes around at the flowering trees and bushes illuminated by the sunset. "That's the last time we beam _anywhere_ ," Sam says vehemently. "At least for a while."

There's a large fire pit already blazing with warmth, and Baal guides her over to the cushions scattered around it. "Everything we need is right here," he murmurs, taking her into his arms. Sam lays back in response to his hands urging her down to the bedding, stretching her arms up and around his neck. He doesn’t kiss her right away, and just looks down at her silently. She looks back, watching as he leans down to trace his lips over her face just lightly enough that she can barely feel it. His eyelashes sweep across her skin as he blinks, making her shiver.

Sam moves a hand down and around to the front of his robe, pulling on the ties until the knot gives way and the robe yawns open. A nudge, and it falls from his shoulders to pool around his narrow hips. In the half-light, Sam can see the jagged zig-zags of scar tissue outlining the closely spaced bullet wounds. He'd clearly been hiding much of his discomfort when she'd first come into the room. "Maybe we should wait-"

" _No_ ," they both insist. 

Somehow she didn't think they'd agree with that. Baal pushes up onto his knuckles and rolls to the side to dislodge the robe lying across the small of his back, loosing a sibilant hiss as Sam reaches down to cup his groin. "Then no teasing; not now." Her fingers tighten slightly and Baal drops back down over her, rolling his hips into her touch. They both fumble to remove her clothing and remain in contact at the same time… but that doesn't work, and they're both frustrated as they have to break apart and sit up. Sam struggles to unzip her pants and shove them down over her hips while Baal tugs her top off. "Don't rip them," Sam cries as Baal closes his fingers around the waistband of her panties with intent plain upon his face.

"I'll buy you ten more," Baal promises, ripping them anyway and flinging his arm back to toss them past the fire pit. She doesn't have enough time to unsnap her bra before he lunges for her so, rather than risking him demolishing more of her lingerie, Sam just pushes the cups aside.

Her skin feels as hot as the fire glowing off to their left, and Sam gasps for air as Baal's tongue swipes along her jugular. This is a damn sight better than staying for her court martial, she thinks, and it's the last coherent thought she has. His hands are all over her, stroking as if to press his own need through her pores. Sam grips his biceps, tossing her head and puffing to dislodge a chunk of her hair from her eyes. The hot, silken slide of his erection against her thigh makes her release him long enough to shove her hair out of her face, and slap her hands down on his ass. She digs her nails in and _pulls_ him up between her spread legs.

Sam wriggles, gasping open-mouthed as the blunt head of his cock parts her flesh slowly. When Baal is fully seated within her Sam opens her eyes to see him poised there with his head thrown back and eyes closed, his chest heaving. If she didn't know better, she'd think he'd fallen asleep. He lowers his head, eyes slipping open to reveal white-gold light limning the irises. Baal thrusts slowly once, twice… and then gives in to the urges that both of them are feeling when Sam grips his buttocks and grinds against him demandingly.

They fuck in the most primal sense of the word, pushing and straining against each other. Baal's fingers bite into her hips as they roll closer to the fire; Sam grasps at his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles bunch and flex as he pounds into her. They roll again and she's on top, riding him hard and stretching her upper body into the night sky. No one can hear as Baal gets her on all fours and takes her from behind, pulling her head back with a firm grip on her hair and bringing her to orgasm. They end up on the far side of the fire pressed against a tree when Baal’s stamina is finally compromised by a few well-timed Kegel exercises. She feels the naquidah surge as the symbiote reacts to the dopamine increase and Baal’s multi-tonal, beyond-satisfied groan of “ _Samantha_ ” fills her ears.

“Mmm,” Sam says as she runs her fingers through her lover’s hair. _Lover_. It’s a nice word. She turns her head to kiss his silvered temple, shivering slightly at the puff of breath he exhales. “You know what would be really great right now?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait at least five more minutes,” Baal sighs at her, regretfully shifting his weight back and helping her sit up. “Any pithy comments decrying my performance will only get you lobbed into the water again.”

Sam laughs at him and accepts his outstretched hand. “I was actually talking about a bath.”

“That, we can manage quite easily.” Baal pulls her to her feet and rakes his eyes over her, smiling as she realizes that her bra has been shoved down around her waist. He takes her into his arms after she discards it, kissing her deeply.

“Five minutes, huh?” Sam teases with a downward glance.

“You _are_ incredibly… inspirational,” Baal admits, gesturing toward the main housing structure. “A bath first, perhaps.”

“Or during.”

“That, too.”

One advantage to being a System Lord’s beloved? Luxury wherever you turn, Sam thinks as the bathtub turns out to be the size of a small pool. Of course, it’s full and the water is continually circulating by way of some very interesting-looking technology. It’s kept at just the right temperature, too, and there’s a wood burning fireplace a stone’s throw away. The entire place has been created with seduction in mind, and Sam asks Baal about it as she sinks into the heated pool.

“Of course,” he answers easily, dropping several towels onto the floor and walking over to join her in the water. “It is in our very best interests to keep our Queen pleased with us.” Baal smiles as he reaches for her, but the smile slips away as his fingertips touch the whitened scars that remain her only souvenirs from their Air Force One escapade. “I am sorry that I wasn’t able to heal you faster,” the symbiote says regretfully.

Sam gives him a kiss. “You did what you could.” They soap each other, making washing into foreplay, exchanging kisses heavy with languor. Her body is still buzzing from their time outside, but she’s more than receptive when Baal begins to kiss her throat. The hot water has her totally relaxed by the time he scoops her up and deposits her on the pile of towels just outside of the pool. His hands arrange her legs over his shoulders as he remains in the water, and Sam’s eyes flutter closed as he kisses and licks his way along the inside of her thighs. “You’re going to kill me.”

“As many little deaths as you can handle,” Baal promises her, making her writhe as he purses his lips and blows gently at the apex of her thighs. “Open your legs for me, my sweet.” He purposely adds the flange to his voice – the symbiote quite clearly remembers that she finds it to be impossibly sexy. His tongue swipes through her folds, teasing licks that make Sam moan helplessly. Baal talks to her throughout, a honeyed rumble describing how she tastes and what he’s planning on doing to her. When he falls silent, it’s to concentrate on making her come – even then, when Sam’s clawing at his hair and screaming out a prayer to the False God between her legs, he doesn’t stop pleasuring her. She weathers the aftershocks of extreme pleasure, heightened by the feel of his fingers sliding into her.

Baal easily carries her into the bedroom (their bedroom) and settles her there, fully intending to mount her again, but Sam shakes her head _no_ and pushes him onto his back. “I need a break,” she laughs, nudging the excess pillows aside. “If you really want a job to do, you can hold my hair.”

He moves the pillows behind his back and immediately reaches for her, and Sam hears his moan as she kneels down to press her lips against his cut lines. A bead of pre-ejaculate forms at the tip of his cock, and Sam leans over to lap it up with her tongue. His fingers comb her hair back in a continuous, kneading movement that reminds her of a cat – the comparison is an apt one because as she takes him in her mouth, the symbiote vocalizes its pleasure by _purring_. Sam can feel Baal's stomach muscles tighten when she slides a hand up his chest, enjoying the feel of the warm flesh in her mouth as she sucks him. Her jaw starts aching by the time his breath hitches and his fingers tighten in her hair – she rolls her eyes up to watch him as he comes, a hot spill on her tongue that slides down her chin. 

His eyes are still glowing as he watches her wipe his seed from her mouth and lick it from the back of her hand. "Speaking of deaths…"

"You don't have the monopoly on perve."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Sam cuddles against him and they slide their fingers together lazily until her stomach reminds her that she hasn't eaten all day. The symbiote had probably been suppressing the need for food, and she's been too preoccupied with an amorous System Lord to eat anything. "I hope you have plenty of food here." He doesn't reply, and she shifts to look up at him – he's fast asleep. She manages to extract herself from his arms without waking him, and a quick inspection of the drawers carved into the rock wall provides her with a silk robe that she slips on. After flipping a light cover over Baal (his flanged _hmmmm_ as he rolls onto his side makes her smile), Sam goes in search of food.

Their allotted three weeks pass more quickly than she'd like them to. The occasional feeling of guilt is pushed away when she forcibly reminds herself that they're _really_ taking only forty-five minutes of 'real' time. Responsibility is a hard habit to break. They spend their time cementing their bond by talking, playing, and lovemaking – it's mostly lovemaking, if she's completely honest. She learns more of what it means to be a Goa'uld-Ancient hybrid, and the extent of a clone's genetic memory. They both learn about the trust that exists between them. On the final night, Sam accepts the symbiote once again and she learns something else; what it's _really_ like to have a consensual 'threesome' with a Goa'uld. 

In the morning as they walk back down to the edge of the forcefield, Baal teases her for fussing with her hair while she wonders if anyone will notice that she's not wearing the same clothing; in their haste to get undressed, her discarded outfit had slid into the firepit. There'll be no way she can explain both of their tans.

"Ready?"

"No."

They beam back anyway.

Jeeves - who Sam now knows has protected her clone at all costs and is unshakably loyal – has finished straightening the room and gives both of them a quick once-over before nodding in satisfaction and walking over to open the door.

The inquisition begins, and Sam is immensely grateful for their stolen time when it quickly becomes clear that she's to be treated as an enemy. SG-1, at least, stands by her as a contingent of SF's come to escort her to the nearby base. Baal meets her gaze with an unspoken question in his eyes, but Sam shakes her head _no_. The last thing she needs right now is to add 'resisting arrest' to the already long list of charges. They're both taken out in handcuffs as a commotion starts in another part of the hospital – someone seems to have recognized Aris from the surveillance footage taken from the White House cameras.

At the base, they're forcibly separated and Sam is placed in a darkened high-security cell. She's there for two days before Baal comes for her, looking absolutely livid. "Do you have any idea how long I've searched for you?" he snaps as if it's her fault. "The fools have lined all the cells with raw naquidah."

"I've noticed," Sam offers, scrambling to her feet.

"A single spark could set off the entire base. What they were thinking, I hope to never know – you haven't befriended any mice to act as messengers, have you?" Baal curls his hands around the bars, sets his feet, and slowly peels a section of metal aside. "Come here."

Sam squeezes herself through the bars, and Baal takes her hand to help her find her footing – his thumb brushes across her knuckles in the only caress they can share with the surveillance cameras present. "I'm not escaping with you."

"Consider it an opportunity to explain instead of escape," Baal suggests, gesturing towards the end of the hall. "I have spent every waking moment of the past 48 hours _explaining_ our actions, despite the fact that this could all have been over with if your government had simply done as I asked and brought that ridiculously named Za'tarc Detector."

Sam almost feels sorry for the people he's been 'explaining' things to. They walk down the hall and into a service elevator, where she finds that Baal has overpowered several armed guards. "This isn't going to help our case."

His eyes flash angrily. "I will not have my Queen imprisoned by anyone."

"Except yourself, of course."

"I heard no complaints, Colonel Carter. If you have been hurt…" he trails off ominously, and she shakes her head. The elevator lurches into motion and he gathers her into his arms, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. "I feel as if I am less than two _hundred_ years, when I am not with you. It is… most unsettling."

Well, that was love for you; making even two thousand year old Goa'uld act like a lovestruck, hormonal teenager. Baal kisses her on each eyelid, then on the mouth. And speaking of hormonal… "Later," Sam counsels, breaking away from him. "They probably need to court martial me before I get any sort of conjugal visits."

Baal coughs. "About that. Your superiors are under the impression that we have previously eloped."

Sam stares at him as the doors slide open. "They think we're married."

"That's about the size of it, yes."

"I wonder how they arrived at _that_ particular impression."

"My Jaffa have testified to the fact that we were wed in the Goa'uld manner," Baal says, pointing. "Shall we go?"

"What, exactly, is the Goa'uld manner?" He murmurs something that makes the scowl on her face deepen even further. "Excuse me? I didn't quite catch that."

Baal is studying the ceiling. "Exchange of hosts."

"That's bullshit, and-"

" _And_ your Doctor Jackson has already confirmed that the ritualistic exchange of hosts is an archaic Goa'uld matrimonial practice." Baal finally looks at her, and it's clear that he finds it unbearably hilarious. "The moment you freely and willingly accepted my symbiote into your body and mind, we became married."

_Freely and willingly?_ She'd been in the back of an out-of-control Culligan truck with no goldfish bowl! "I am going to kill you," she says succinctly. "Pain. Lots of pain, and suffering, and maybe some death."

"I look forward to it," Baal says. "Until then, could we please go so that you don't have to spend any more time behind bars? While I might have diplomatic immunity from prosecution and imprisonment, you do not."

Sam walks with him to a briefing room in which she once gave a lecture to cadets, and blinks in surprise as the generals and other high-ranking officials including the Secretary of Defense swivel around to look at her. There’s silence for a moment, then everyone begins to talk at once. “Let me guess; you didn’t warn them that you were bringing me back here?”

Baal purses his lips. “Not exactly.” He lets the outraged babble continue unabated for a few more seconds, and then holds his hands up for grudgingly granted silence. “Here stand the saviors of your Earth, whom you would imprison. As I am your System Lord, I tell you that any further persecution of my Queen will be met with the harshest punishment. All she has done, she has done for the ungrateful Tau’ri in this room and the rest spread about this planet – yet I do not believe anyone has treated her as anything but a criminal. She has not been allowed to speak of what she has endured, but instead thrown into a cell. Her will is my own, and if she wishes to speak to you now I shall let none interrupt.” His eyes flash with anger as he scans the room. Jack O’Neill is openly staring at Baal’s High Lord routine, and that reminds Sam to stop doing the same – she closes her mouth and tries to look as regal as possible. “Bring in that absurd Tok’ra device, and it will show that she recites truth.”

She gives a full accounting of events up to the time she walked into Baal’s hospital room – he prompts her carefully, making sure their shared time in Bali remains a closely guarded secret. An impartial witness, a visiting Tok’ra named Calum, had been found to monitor the za’tarc detector and he questions her further about a small number of anomalies, which turn out to be facts only relayed from Aris. Sam wonders if he’s in jail, too, but somehow she doubts it.

It takes several hours of intense questioning, but at least they’re finally _asking_ her. She knows better than to expect any sort of gratitude. Jack excuses himself without comment. When every move she made is analyzed and questioned at least ten times, Sam is finally told that she is free to go after Carolyn conducts a thorough physical examination back at the SGC. She surmises that her house will have been bugged again, and looks over at Baal as they’re ushered from the room and back to Cheyenne Mountain.

The first person she sees when she walks into the infirmary by herself – Baal has been asked to a meeting with Woolsey – is Amelia Banks, who immediately looks embarrassed. “Colonel Carter,” the technician greets, looking every which way but at Sam. “I… I’m glad they released you.” 

The other woman looks so flustered, Sam wonders what happened to the usually unflappable gate technician. Then Carolyn Lam comes back from her office, and all is made exceedingly clear. “Okay, Amy, the test came back negative so I’m going to go ahead and prescribe some antibiotics-” Carolyn breaks off as she catches sight of Sam. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we weren’t alone. If you could step into my office, Ms. Banks…”

Amelia’s face is bright red as she hops off of the bed, and Sam suddenly understands why there had been so much cranberry juice in the island’s well-stocked pantry. A mutual acquaintance of theirs had probably dragged her off to bed and kept her there for at least two weeks until she’d developed a raging UTI.

Sam shakes her head to try and rid it of the mental image of the SGC’s newest couple; of course, just when she manages to think of something else, Aris walks through the door. Today he’s wearing a faded pair of jeans, boots, and a white shirt; probably because he hasn’t had time to mug anyone wearing a uniform yet. “Shouldn’t you be in prison for blowing up the White House?” she asks rudely.

Aris just smiles. “They asked if I’d like to go to a place called Riker’s Island, but I said no thanks. You bite anyone else lately, or did I just get lucky?”

“Just you,” Sam answers. “Was the cranberry juice your idea?”

“Cranberry juice? No.”

Somehow she didn’t think so. “Don’t lead her on, Aris. She deserves better than that.”

The smile completely disappears from his face. “I don’t believe she’s any of your business, Colonel.”

“She thought she was pregnant, Aris.”

“Stay out of it,” he insists, taking a step forward. The door to Carolyn’s office opens and Amelia comes out, pausing as she sees them glaring at each other. “Ready to go?” Aris asks her in a completely different tone, and she gives Sam a quick smile as she walks to her lover; Aris curves a protective arm around her shoulders as they leave.

Carolyn comes out and beckons Sam over to another exam table, drawing the curtains around the bed. “Glad to see they let you out of your cage,” her friend says, only half-joking. “Let’s get this over with so you can go home. Is it true that you beat Seifer half to death with an oxygen tank? I hear the extraction went without a hitch and he’ll make a full recovery.”

“No, that was Aris – and speaking of him…”

“You know that’s confidential, Sam,” Carolyn chides. “Deep breath for me… okay, let it out. What I _can_ tell you is gossip from the cafeteria. Hold still for a second? Thanks. Apparently, after a whirlwind courtship of three whole days, she’s asked him to marry her.”

“That’s ridiculous.” How much abuse of time dilation field dynamics had they done?

“What’s even more ridiculous is that he said yes. The wedding’s next June. Did I mention they only met three days ago? All I can say is, he sure must be good at _something_.” Carolyn’s mouth tightens as she surveys the healed bullet wounds. “These look like they’re at least a year old. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to come in next week and talk to me about the accelerated healing process; you’re the only human I’ve come across who’s experienced this and I have a few questions. Don’t come back here.” This last is aimed at Baal, who pushes through the curtain anyway.

“I’ve seen it all before,” the Goa’uld reassures her, looking down at Sam. “I promise to contain myself if you get around to utilizing those stirrups.”

“That’s good to know. What did Woolsey want?”

Baal leans a hip against a nearby cabinet, crossing his arms over his chest. “He was sent to convey another conditional pardon. If I would like to stay on Earth without being constantly supervised, I must become affiliated with Stargate Command as a consultant of sorts. For one thing, I must attempt to assimilate my dear departed brother's Host into Tau'ri society.”

Sam has a feeling that something else has caused his expression to sour. “But that’s not all, is it? What else does he want you to do?”

“I must be occasionally assigned to an offworld team once the Gate is operational.”

“And…?”

Baal’s lip curls in disgust and he slides a hand in his suit’s inside pocket, withdrawing a flat wooden box. “And I must wear this.” It opens to reveal patches identical to the one on Sam’s BDU shirt. “I think I might be physically ill.”

After the exam is complete and they’re at her house having finished deactivating the surveillance devices with the help of Jeeves (she reminds herself yet again to do something about his name), Baal decides to haul her into the bathroom for a bubble bath because she 'smells like incarceration'. “Did anyone ever find out anything about Nirrti’s poisons?” Sam asks, leaning back against his chest.

“His Jaffa attempted to deploy all the canisters at once,” Baal tells her, “Without realizing that a specific code was needed to keep them from opening before they reached the atmosphere. Half burned up on reentry, and the rest…opened in the ha’tak before transport.”

Sam shudders. "Any survivors?"

"There might have been, if not for the emergency response hardwired into each vessel – the moment the system detected the toxins, the atmosphere was vented through each cargo bay." Baal nudges the faucet with his toes to turn on the hot water. "In the morning, I will go aboard and disarm any remaining traps while you lie abed like the sloth that you are."

"I thought we talked about you randomly insulting me."

"That wasn't an insult. I happen to think that sloths are highly dexterous as well as adorable, two qualities which you possess in abundance."

"Nice save."

"I thought so," he says modestly.

 

It takes time for her peers to accept the fact that, where she goes, so goes Baal – and vice versa. The First Lady proves herself to be a friend, remaining utterly fascinated by the fact that Sam had carried Baal's symbiote despite the obvious dangers – even the President meets with them, though they're not exactly welcome at the White House. The Stargate is repaired, and SG-1 is reassembled when General Landry returns; Baal is often sent offworld with various SG teams, to his palpable dismay, and Sam has to remind him how attractive he is in a military uniform. It remains a constant source of amusement how quick he is to change his clothing whenever he returns to Earth. Sam doesn't think she'll ever get tired of hearing the telltale scratch of Velcro separating as Baal tears the patch from his arm, complaining that it's giving him a rash.

Life is far from perfect; they have their quarrels over issues big and small - on some things, they'll never be able to see eye to eye. Life isn't perfect, but it's as close as it's going to get and that's just fine with her. Sam can safely say that she's the only woman in the world with a Goa'uld life partner and a doting Jaffa butler named Jeeves who refuses to change his name.

Life, as they say, is good.

_fin_


End file.
